


Two Voices

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-28
Updated: 2002-09-28
Packaged: 2018-11-21 00:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11345937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Skinner and Krycek are not what you'd call domesticated animals, but things change.





	Two Voices

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Two Voices

## Two Voices

#### by Bette St. Cloud

Title: Two Voices   
Author: Bette St. Cloud   
Feedback Email:   
Fandom: X-Files   
Pairing: S/K   
Date: 09/17/02   
Rating: NC17   
Category: Drama, Angst, AU (Alternate Universe) Archive: I'd just as soon you didn't. 

Summary: Skinner and Krycek are not what you'd call domesticated animals, but things change. 

Warning: These are not nice people. They make hard choices and live with them as best they can. One other thing: the format's a bit unusual. 

Disclaimer: X-files, Walter Skinner, Alex Krycek, and the X-files universe belong to Chris Carter and 1013 productions. I haven't made, and in all likelihood will not make, a single red cent from this. But if I do, I promise to give those guys their cut. Wait. Who am I kidding? If I make any money off of this, it's mine. 

Introduction: Okay, there were these two guys with problems and one day they got themselves a kid. They were afraid they might suck as parents, but they did just fine. Their kid trusted them and loved them, and grew up happy and healthy, but just as he was about to go off to college he put together all the clues that he'd figured out over the years and asked his fathers to come clean with him. They did and the kid (Who'd said, "Look, Dad and Dad, I can handle it.") freaked. He wrote them a note, saying that he was going away for a while and would come back later. The two guys were at a loss; stunned, saddened, and hurt by what they perceived as their son's rejection. Oddly, it was an old friend of one of the guys, a third-rate movie producer named Federman, who helped them out. He'd lost touch with Walter, and when he couldn't find him, hired a witch to help locate him. (Well, so what! It worked!) One day their guards intercepted him as he was stumbling around their front border looking for the (well-hidden) gate. He, naturally, commented on the paranoia run rampant, and eventually Skinner confided in him. His questions helped them think back over their lives (and incidentally gave Federman great material). He had to probe and pry, but he was good at it, and eventually the men loosened up enough to tell their respective stories in fits and starts. They weren't really talking to him as much as to themselves, but it allowed them a panoramic perspective on the progress they'd made as individuals and as a family. Federman listened. One of the men baldly threatened to kill him if any of what they said made it into a movie script. Federman decided to ignore him, but then, remembering the extreme paranoia he'd encountered and the stories he'd just heard, changed his mind. Later, he changed his mind again, changed one of the men into a woman and made his movie anyway. It tanked. 

* * *

Two Voices  
Bette St. Cloud 

KRYCEK: This is why I decided Walter Skinner could fuck me any time he wanted: he licked my arm. Not the real one, the plastic one that hangs stiff and unfeeling from my stump. I watched his eyes and understood that he didn't do it because he wanted me to know he accepted me for what I was or any shit like that. I saw nothing of that in his gaze. He did it because it was simply another part of me he was claiming for himself. I could accept that from him. His indifference to my sensitivities is something I revel in. It makes me feel... closer to him somehow. 

SKINNER: I felt protective of the beautiful boy in the ugly suit. I would have helped him, groomed him, completely suppressed my desire for him. The lean and hungry traitor, however, was someone I could know, someone I could feel. 

KRYCEK: That first time, it was because I'd broken into his beach house. It was supposed to be a message from the Consortium--we can get to you anytime, anywhere. I smirked at him, goaded him, then didn't get out of the way fast enough. We were fighting before I knew it and I was overpowered so quickly that I'm still shocked at myself to this day. I know I blacked out. When I came to I listened to myself spilling Consortium secrets-- he'd shot me up with something and I couldn't help myself. I confessed to killings, torture, and much more--I told him how the man who adopted me gave me up to the Consortium as a hostage while keeping his real son safe, how much I'd wanted him, how much I hated rutabagas--everything. 

When the drugs wore off I found myself chained to a chair in his kitchen, staring down at a plate of rutabagas. He lounged in the other chair, naked. He unchained me and held my own gun on me, smirking, while I ate the rutabagas. He fucked me. I died. I went to heaven. I came back to earth with a bad case of Walter Skinner. Then, to my utter humiliation, he gave me my gun and sent me on my way. 

I'll never forget that moment: him, standing naked at his front door, the freezing wind coming off the water. My gun, warm and secure and pointless against my hip. His hooded expression. His amusement. His disdain. I almost shot him. I almost cried. I got into my car and drove away. 

SKINNER: After he broke into my beach house all bets were off. I beat the crap out of him and enjoyed it, and didn't find out until later how pointless it was. I'd heard whispers of the Consortium, but if I'd known then what I know now, I wouldn't have gotten my jollies by forcing him to eat rutabagas. I certainly wouldn't have fucked him. I would have handed him over to USMC Intel and still been riding high on my coup to this very day. Instead, I finished with him, handed him his gun, and let him out the door. The way he looked at me, I assumed he would try to kill me if he ever got the chance. Instead, he came back for more. 

KRYCEK: Our second time together, he smelled me all over, Russian peasant. He raised my arm and nosed into my armpit and just...pulled me into himself as if there was a place inside him just waiting for me. 

"Next time don't use deodorant," he ordered. 

I liked the rumble of his voice when he was aroused. I didn't answer him with words, though. No way could I ever have promised him a next time. 

A few days after that, Cancerman told me I stank. I just looked at him. He was slipping out of power--I knew it and he knew I knew it. I got right in his face, letting myself gag at his tobacco-sodden breath, no longer doing him the courtesy of pretending his odor was not offensive to me. 

"My lover likes me this way," I leered. "Get used to it." 

"You have a lover? Is it Marita?" Jealous old goat. As if he ever stood a chance. 

"You don't know him," I lied. 

"Him? You're full of surprises these days, Alex." 

I just sneered at him, letting him see his powerlessness in his inability to frighten me any longer. 

SKINNER: I was always so grateful to America. Sharon never understood. Mulder, Scully; they'll never get it. Food every day! A man never forgets what it's like to be without. I joined the marines because I wanted to show my new country how much I loved her, how grateful I was for the fact that my entire family had work, ate regularly, owned a television and a car. We went from starvation to prosperity, and all it took was leaving everything we'd ever known and coming here. My mother grew beets and leeks in her yard. On property we owned. Owned. I am still, in some ways, very proud of the fact that I served my country. I'm not proud of what I became, but what I did? Oh, yeah, I'm a hero, a big one. 

Krycek: There's something of the feral survivalist about Walter Skinner, something I recognized as kin to me. He hates it that I know this about him. 

SKINNER: The war did not change me as much as some people think. Granted, it pushed me over the edge, but I was already so close it would have happened sooner or later. Ironically, I was grateful to Nam because it let me shape my deformities into a pattern everyone could recognize. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. None of the shrinks ever imagined that the trauma started long before I joined up. My family had lived with our backs to the wall for so long. Surviving against the odds was what we did best. In Nam it was easy for me to let instinct take over. I think that's the real reason I came back to my body. I will live, no matter what. I will endure. I will live. Alex would throw this in my face if I ever admitted it to him, which is why I won't. He has enough leverage as it is. 

KRYCEK: I had no choice but to kill him. With the nanocytes I could control what I did to him. Bring him back. Keep him safe. One day, after I killed Kritchgau, I went to his office and tortured him. I had to, for the cameras. Then I made my way to his apartment and spent the better part of the afternoon sweeping his place for bugs. I got the drop on him when he came staggering in from work. 

"You fucking idiot." Hello, love. Good to see you alive and kicking. 

"What now, Krycek?" 

"I spent the better part of an hour cleaning bugs out of this place. Do you think you could at least pretend to have a brain?" 

"You're the idiot." He sounded tired. "Don't you think they'll wonder what happened if they suddenly stop receiving?" 

He had a point, but I'd been too worried to see sense, and when he touched me I ceased to care about any of it. 

A few days later I was assigned to install new bugs in his place. Fox. Henhouse. Hello? 

SKINNER: When he came to see me we snarled and snapped at one another before I turned another kind of aggression his way. He let me undress him, which he knew I enjoyed. He smelled rich as a feast. When I looked at him I felt my head go light. He let me unstrap his arm. He was patient with me as I simply stared at him for long moments before falling on him and taking what I wanted. 

Mulder asked me if I recognized Krycek when he was poisoning me with the nanocytes. What could I say? `Why yes, Agent, I've had his dick in my mouth a bunch of times.' Besides, with Krycek practically flaunting his identity, Mulder should have been able to identify the man easily enough. I've seen Krycek in much better disguises. He won't be recognized if he doesn't want to be. He was doing that for me. It was practically an apology. 

KRYCEK: I lost the ability to feel emotions a long time ago, but I felt things when I was with him. I often thought I should kill him for that. I don't know why I kept him alive, but for some reason his survival became important to me. Like a good luck charm. Beyond all logic I cared what happened to him. 

For a long time he did not know I'd once had a wife and a son. Naively, I used to believe I was valuable enough that the Consortium would not harm the people I loved. Jarokal was beautiful; high cheekbones, the typical diamond-shaped face of all Peruvians, silent and willing in the manner of peasant women the world over. The threats began when her stomach grew large: at first subtle, then more overt. I named our child Mikhail and soon after he was born I took him and Jarokal back to her hamlet in the Andes Mountains. I thought they would be safe, but one day I got a package in the mail--a video of our son taking his first steps. That's when I knew what was in store for us. I returned to our home in the mountains and did the only thing I could think to do for them--I killed them. The Consortium left me alone for a long time after that. 

Later, they politely asked me to take an assignment at the FBI, spying on something called the X files. I shrugged and said sure. Why they thought they could ever trust me again is something I'll never understand. 

SKINNER: I'd never imagined sociopaths felt pain. I prided myself on my noble martyrdom until I found out how much it cost him just to live. When he shuddered and sighed and opened himself up to me I saw the dead and broken places inside him. He knew what I perceived, but shrugged it off. He was pathetic, twisted and lonely as I was, but he didn't let it bother him. I, on the other hand, was always so righteous about my sacrifices. I played at being holier than thou and loved every minute of it until he showed me how little it meant. 

KRYCEK: I understand why his wife divorced him. He had all the right clothes, knew which fork to use, knew his way around an art gallery. Underneath the sophistication, however, he still hoarded like a peasant. His emotions, his money. He saved everything for the time when he might run out. Sharon got tired of fighting him for every crumb and morsel. It humiliated her to have to force him to give up those tiny bits of himself that he was willing to share. I threw it in his face on more than one occasion and he slapped me for it, which is how I'm sure I'm right. He was afraid to be himself around his own wife. With me though, he just let go. It made me proud. Walter Skinner, FBI white knight, couldn't help himself around Krycek, Ratbastard. 

SKINNER: It amused him to watch me tremble. To make me wait. I didn't care, as long as he kept coming back. 

KRYCEK: I spied on him incessantly, ignoring Consortium assignments to follow him around his daily routines. He would have killed me if he'd ever found out. I followed him up to New Jersey when he visited his mother. He was a completely different man then, taking her shopping, patiently driving her on her small errands. He smiled like a baby when she pulled him down to kiss his cheek. She fed him blintzes. She pickled eggs for him, and gave him little gifts of butter, or sticks of smoked beef. I watched a mother and her son and felt... longing? I told myself to stop being a fool. He always took her food home to his apartment and threw it out. Mr. Tofu. When I broke into his house I went through his garbage and stole it. One Easter he came home with a carload of food left over from the feast. I came to see him that night and he gave me some of her butter-soaked cookies. I had to force myself to eat them. His food tastes better stolen. 

SKINNER: I fucked Krycek a lot. In an odd way it liberated me. I threw caution, loyalty, security, and common sense out the window to be with him, and I discovered that none of it mattered one bit. What we did was worse than dangerous, it was insane. As much for him as for me. I didn't know what I had that he wanted (besides a big cock, but he could have gotten that anywhere), but whatever it was, he apparently needed it enough to keep coming around. Hell, it was probably just the fact that his Consortium masters would have shit bricks if they'd known. Outside my bed we remained sworn enemies, but I noticed that he lied to the Consortium to protect me. I know I'm supposed to be dead several times over, but he warned me when I was in danger, told me what to do to stay alive. "Keep the dat tape on you at all times," he once said, "because otherwise I'm going to torture the location out of you." 

A day later he kicked my ass in the stairwell, but I didn't mind. I believe he killed Kritchgau, and I cared on a technicality, but not much. I could smell his presence in my house. He wore no deodorant, per my request, and his scent, lingering on my sheets, made me leak with wanting. He often broke in and left me little gifts; his briefs, fragrant with his aroma, or his jockstrap with his cum still drying on it. I sucked his essence into my mouth, chewing on the fabric, stroking myself as I tasted him, calling his name as I exploded. When I was done, I washed them and primly stacked them in a drawer in case he needed a change of underwear at some point 

KRYCEK: To this day I don't know why I put myself at risk like I did. I was terrified of losing my edge. Every time I reported in to my bosses I expected to find them passing around pictures of me with Skinner, like kids with a stack of baseball cards. Every time I dropped in on him I told myself it would be the last time. It was always a lie. I kept coming back and I refused to think about why I did it. 

SKINNER: I began to lose my mind shortly after we came upon the burned bodies at el Rico Air Base. It wasn't until several weeks later that I asked myself how I'd known Krycek's body was not on the floor with the other skeletons. When I realized what the answer had to be I got stinking drunk. I locked myself into my apartment, carefully hid the bullets in one safe and the guns in another, then deliberately and methodically proceeded to get bombed out of my mind. 

KRYCEK: Joining the resistance was my `fuck you' to the Consortium. I didn't believe in their cause, not at first. When I discovered the dead doctor and the missing alien fetus, I knew they were a much bigger threat to the Consortium than I'd been led to believe. Hedging my bets was just plain common sense. 

SKINNER: My pathetic excuse for a bender had no effect. I tried to suppress it, but strange shit kept happening to me. One day, for no reason I could think of, I suddenly knew I had to get my ass down to North Carolina to rescue my two most irritating agents. I don't know how I.... actually that's a lie. I've always had this thing I've been able to do. I usually ignored it, but around that time it started getting stronger. I started to feel it the moment I signed off on their 302--a nervousness in the pit of my stomach; a sense of foreboding that I couldn't explain away and couldn't shake off. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore and just walked out of my office at nine-thirty, hopped a plane and started throwing my weight around in a North Carolina State Trooper's office. Sure enough, Mulder and Scully were buried underground, being digested by a giant fungus. (Trust those two to find the only man-eating fungus in the entire world.) Nobody asked why I stormed into park headquarters and practically commandeered a search team to go rescue them. Nobody asked how I knew the exact spot to dig for them. We pulled them out looking like extras from a Ghostbusters sequel. I felt exposed and embarrassed, but I hightailed it out of there before anybody could think to demand an explanation, so my secret was safe. 

A month later, I made a fool of myself in a bar by forcing another one of my agents to return to the office with me for more analysis of crime scene photos. The man she'd been flirting with, a man who intended to take her back to his hotel room and beat her up after they had sex, finally gave up in exasperation and left. It completely pissed me off. My job is not to rescue people I'm responsible for, especially when I can't tell them how I know what I know. I kept trying to suppress it, but it got harder and harder to pretend it wasn't there. 

KRYCEK: Fucking hell. You'd fucking know that bastard Spender would escape being fried. I let Jeffrey cry in front of me as I told him the truth about his old man. I think he was sad about his mother being turned into a crispy critter. I grabbed him by the collar and shook him until he snapped out of it. Turn around and walk away, I told him. It's the only way you'll survive. I guess he took my advice because I've never seen him again. 

SKINNER: The thing flared up with a vengeance. It got so I could always feel Krycek. Sometimes he washed over my mind in a great wave of sadness which always lifted when he came to my apartment. A little later, I felt Mulder reading my mind when I went to visit him in the psyche ward. It was like a pressure against my brain, and it was very hard to resist. 

"I know you've been compromised," he said from his hospital bed, and I waited for him to tell me he could feel me sensing him. I braced myself for his disbelief and revulsion when he found out who I'd been fucking for the past few years, and I damned near shit myself in relief when I felt that pressure withdraw again. I think he must not have completely trusted his new senses. Either that or he was good enough to tactfully step around the details of my personal life. Knowing Mulder though, he was probably just too self-centered to pay attention to anything that wasn't directly related to his quest. Otherwise he would have perceived it eventually. 

Krycek showed up at work again, waited until he knew I wouldn't be alone, then activated the nanocytes in my bloodstream. It was such an obvious performance for the cameras that I was almost amused. 

KRYCEK: I told myself to stay away from him, and succeeded for a while. After six months I resumed my old habit of following him around. I tracked him to California, broke into his hotel room, and found him in the tub. 

He glared at me. "What do you want, Krycek?" 

I leered at him. "What do you think?" 

He leered back, his entire body relaxing. "Get in," he ordered. 

I took a minute to stare at him all covered in bubbles and sipping sherry. "Richard Gere?" I teased. 

He had the grace to blush. 

In moments I was naked and sliding into the tub with him. It was the first time I let him see my stump without feeling self-conscious. We spent the entire night in each other's arms. A little while later, when Spender had me thrown into a Tunisian prison, memories of that night kept me from spinning too far off center. It was comforting to know I had things that were real in my life, even if I couldn't readily get to them. 

SKINNER: I went out on a date. It wasn't unpleasant, not really. Her name was Melissa Trager, and she took me to the Maryland Renaissance Festival in some little burg by the Chesapeake Bay. She wanted me to get into the spirit of things, and I tried my best. I ate the turkey leg, and laughed out loud at a really clever send-up of Macbeth, but the entire thing felt so artificial that I simply couldn't enjoy it. I wanted to. It's just that I long ago lost the ability to play, and I was too self-conscious to try and get it back. 

KRYCEK: Smokey thought he was punishing me, and he was, but not the way he imagined. Even one-armed I could defend myself well enough that I wasn't anybody's bitch in that stinking Tunisian hellhole, but it was tough going--filthy and flyspecked, and if I never see another bowl of greasy couscous again it'll be too soon. For some reason I thought about Skinner all the time--the way he arched his back and grimaced when he came; the hard little smile he wore when he took off my clothes; the gritty energy of his fucking. In prison you have too much time to think. I became obsessed with the idea that he might have found someone else. I know my jealousy was just a way to keep me from thinking about my fetid surroundings, but I couldn't keep my mind off him. As soon as Marita let me out again I headed straight back to him. I was angry. With him, for getting under my skin. With myself for being helpless against such a distracting weakness. I got Marita a room in the Marriot and drove across the bridge into Crystal City. For once, wanting to knock him off-balance as badly as I was, I knocked on the door. 

He gave me our ritual greeting. "What do you want Krycek?" 

For answer I grabbed him by the front of his sweater and wrapped one leg around his thighs. 

"The cameras," he growled. 

"Fuck 'em," I answered. 

He threw me over his shoulder, carried me up the stairs to his bedroom and dropped me on the bed. 

It was like a fight, but I didn't mind. We both ended up bruised, scratched and bitten. Afterwards he turned me over and tilted my chin up so I was looking directly at him. 

"Do you know how close you are to dying? How close you still are?" 

I rolled my eyes. "That's not news, Skinner." 

"It's different now." 

I took a good look at him. Sweat still trickled down the side of his cheek, and his severe features were relaxed and ruddy in afterglow, but worry lurked on his face. 

"What is it you think you know?" 

He never told me what had him so spooked, but when I told him what Smokey wanted he agreed to take me to Mulder at once. 

Mulder, as usual, couldn't see the forest for the trees. 

I went back to Spender, but abruptly got tired of listening to him and drop-kicked him down a flight of stairs. Marita caught a flight back to NY, and I followed within hours, eager to finish deciphering the files the now-defunct U.S. Consortium had left behind. 

In hindsight, I should have put a couple of bullets into Spender's head, but even good assassins make bad decisions sometimes. 

SKINNER: I fucking hate alien bounty hunters. I hate that weird poison that comes out of their bodies. I hate feeling weak and helpless, especially when I'm supposed to be the one who protects others. Gibson Praise didn't deserve what happened to him, even if he was kind of a weird kid. The second time I picked him up, when I was trying to escape with him through the air vent, he opened his eyes really wide and said, "You could feel him too, if you wanted to." 

"I don't know what you're talking about," I told him. I must have sounded angrier than I felt because he didn't say anything more after that. 

I just wish I could have protected him better. 

KRYCEK: See, that's what I get for being compassionate. When I killed Smokey I left his nurse Greta alive and the bitch ratted me out to a member of the Belgian branch of the Consortium. I never even saw it coming. The U.S. branch left a shitload of files behind after they got toasted in that hangar, and I was knee-deep in research, trying to crack the encryption codes, when they came for me. I fought, but they were too many. I found myself bound, being carried away like a wolf on a pole. Eventually I ended up in a lab in an insane asylum. Not the kind of place where they cure you. The kind of place where they deliberately make you more crazy. I was given psychotropics and sodium pentothol. It would have worked, too, but Skinner saved me. They never guessed we were fucking. They didn't even know I knew him except as a target. When my mind was splintering, I would silently chant his name and that kept me from descending into the utter disorientation that was their goal for me. Even when I couldn't remember what the syllables meant anymore, I kept making the sounds. 

SKINNER: They gave my assignments to that asshole Follmer. It was supposed to be punishment, but it was a relief to come to work and have fuck-all to do instead of being buried in paperwork all the time. I actually got home before nine some days. 

KRYCEK: After I escaped, it took months for me to be able to believe anything was real. Was I really eating or did I only think I was eating? Had I slept? Had I dreamed? How could I distinguish one fiction from another? I did crazy things (ha ha) like sticking cayenne pepper in my eyes to see if it would really hurt. It didn't make any difference. I didn't know if I'd really put pepper in my eyes or if I only thought I'd put pepper in my eyes. I didn't know if my eyes were really burning and tearing up or if I only thought they were. I didn't know if I was really screaming in pain or if I only thought I was... 

And had I really escaped after all, or was I comatose in a loony bin somewhere, my untrustworthy mind telling me the stories I wanted to hear? Eventually the drugs wore off, and I could whimper to my heart's content. When I remembered Skinner again I giggled for a full day. I wrote his name all over the flophouse walls. Skinner, Skinner, Skinner. It was the one true thing I knew about myself. I remembered that Skinner was my code word for safety when the drugs kicked in. Skinner was a real thing. A trusted thing. If I could find Skinner, I would be safe. 

As soon as I thought I could trust reality again, I went straight to his apartment. He kept me in bed all weekend. Never once asked where I'd been. For some reason he kept making me eat. 

SKINNER: That stupid bullshit thing that sometimes happens to me happened again. It was about Reyes, and a gun. I knew she was in trouble somehow, and I knew she was innocent of shooting Doggett. I tried to keep Follmer from running the ballistics check that would make her a suspect, but it didn't work. And then, suddenly, the whole thing seemed to disappear. Suddenly the suspect was dead in Reyes' house and Doggett was fit as a fiddle. No one else seemed to remember this but me, and I didn't dare say a word for fear of giving them a reason to think I was crazy. 

KRYCEK: I stayed up for thirty hours at a time, decoding the Consortium's files. It was nice to have a task I knew I could do while I got my mind back fully, and there was so much interesting stuff to learn. Supersoldiers? Remember that scene in Independence Day, when Will Smith's character says "I have got to get me one of these!" That's how I felt when I found out about the supersoldiers' existence. I wanted to collect the whole set. 

I found a lot of money and stole it. I'm a billionaire. 

I found out that there are rebel cells all over the globe--I'd had no idea how many. The Consortium was a lost cause, but they never let on, not even to themselves. That's why they sped things up. They feared exposure, sure it would destroy them. Even so, a lot of other Consortium groups were still in business. Hmm. I'd see about that. 

I found a group of healer-clones collectively called Jeremiah Smith. They're utterly useless except for an incredible gift for fixing broken bodies. As soon as I discovered their existence, I went looking for them, only to discover that bounty-hunters were snuffing them out, one by one. During my first foray back into the happy world of work, I killed three of the bounty-hunters as a token of good faith, and the Jeremiah Smiths and I struck a deal. I would protect them. In exchange, one of them would come with me everywhere. If I was hurt, he would heal me on the spot. They usually come with me disguised as a woman. Sometimes even a child. SKINNER: Brad Follmer was arrested. Jesus. I watched as he was escorted out of his office and into an unmarked car and I shook in my size thirteen wides. That could have so easily been me. 

KRYCEK: I found out that Mulder was part of the fourth generation of attempts at an alien/human hybrid. Scully was genetically modified in order to support her role as an incubator for the seventh iteration of Consortium attempts to build the perfect beast. I admit, I was staggered by her pregnancy. How could those two not have thought through the implications of making a baby together? Their shock and horror at the mayhem caused by their little experiment rings repugnantly false. Their selfishness, their hypocrisy, their just plain bone-headed stupidity make me sick to my stomach to this day. Hey supersoldiers, want a perfect template? Take my baby! How the fuck does a guy with his IQ not think through the complexities of making a baby with Scully. If they're truly that naive I should have killed them a long time ago. If they're truly that selfish, I should have tortured them to death. Anyone who's that despicably self-serving doesn't deserve to live. 

**SKINNER:**

I couldn't figure out why he'd shown up again. He could have given us better, more complete information about Scully's baby in an email. For that matter he could have phoned it in. I was glad he came around because I wanted to see him and he was helpful when we were dealing with Billy Miles, but I kept asking myself, 'why is he bothering?' I figured it out too late to do anything but shoot him. He's never admitted it, but he was there to trade himself for Scully's kid. I think he thought he had a better chance of surviving than William did. Otherwise why not hightail it when I was knocked out cold? He could have just walked away. When I figured out what he was up to I knew I couldn't let him be taken. It was totally selfish of me, but I didn't want him turned into another Billy Miles. I wanted to hide him, but I could sense people watching us so I didn't dare try to help him escape. 

Killing him was my only option. I remember how relieved I felt, and how totally detached I became after he was dead. I think I spoke to Mulder but I don't remember what I said. I know I drove my car up and dumped Krycek's body inside, then went to get the parking garage surveillance tapes. When I came back from escaping the supersoldiers, my car was gone. I remember thinking that I had to destroy the tapes in any regard, so I stole a bureau car and drove to the incinerator. I brought the car back, took a cab home, showered, dozed a little. My car showed up in the basement of my condo the next day. I didn't even bother dusting it for prints. Looking back now, I know I was in shock, and I'm grateful for it. Running on autopilot was better than putting my fist through a door. Or putting my car through a restaurant window. I was angry because, yeah, he was an enemy of the state, and yeah he's an assassin, but fucking him was just about the only real pleasure in my life at that time, and of all the ways to say goodbye to someone, shooting them in the head ranks pretty fucking low. I didn't even have the excuse that it was in the line of duty. I had to kill him for his own sake, and that would piss anybody off. 

KRYCEK: I was trying to get my hands on one of the super-soldiers. Knowle Rohrer might have delivered one to me, but before I could finish negotiating, Mulder had to jump in and fuck things up for me. If he'd simply stayed down, Rohrer wouldn't have spotted him, but no, fucking Mulder had to sit where everyone could see him. All I could think was, 'stall for time.' Fucking Mulder. He should have known something was up. I'm an assassin for Christ's sake. When do I stand around making speeches when I'm locked on target? And there I was, waving my gun around and talking. Talking! He couldn't guess that something was wrong? Stupid fucking Mulder was all but killing his own son. Granted, I would have killed him if I could have, but then, I knew what was in store for him. Supersoldier clones. Once they found out that a Mulder/Scully match was viable they would make dozens of Williams. How could those two not have guessed what would happen? 

SKINNER: I found out Scully gave her baby away when I found Doggett sitting in his car one evening, looking gutshot. I got the story out of him and made him stay with me and talk to me until I was sure he could function again. 

Scully went on prozac. Reyes' doing. Monica irritated all of us by insisting on staying with Scully after the social worker took William, but she was right. When I saw Scully again I was stunned by how much weight she'd lost in just a few days' time. We checked her into a psychiatric hospital under a pseudonym and found out that she'd been doped with some drug that causes paranoia. So, along with dealing with her quite understandable grief, she had to have her blood run through some kind of machine that got the impurities out. Right after that, they started doping her with prozac. I hated her mechanical cheerfulness after the drugs kicked in. I felt, in some ways, like I had betrayed her again. Did she not have a right to her sorrow? Even at the cost of our convenience? My mother and the other ladies in our neighborhood once sat for days with a woman whose baby died of pneumonia. That's all, just sat in shifts, acknowledging the mortal wound of losing a child. Scully deserved no less, but I didn't know how to support her like that, and even if I had there was no time and no... space for me in her life, at least, not that way. Doggett drove Reyes to the hospital a bunch of times. I think they got together. Good for them. 

**KRYCEK:**

I would never have guessed it, but being dead was sooo coool! I didn't see angels and pearly gates. I saw everything. It was like the pattern of all that is. Simple, comprehensible, supremely logical. I would have never imagined for a minute that heaven looks like common sense. 

SKINNER: They found Mulder breaking into a military base. I wanted to stick an ice-pick into the back of his neck, but I restrained myself. 

Scully thought Mulder'd gone insane. She told me he talked to people who weren't there. He talked to me. He thanked Krycek. He growled at the Smoking Bastard. I wanted to be sympathetic, but I couldn't think of anything to say because I found it hard to care. Not anymore. I was fifty-two, close to retirement, and too old to begin another iteration of Mulder-induced chaos. The whole time I was defending him I kept thinking how nice it would be if Mulder would just drop dead and then the whole thing would be over. A spiteful thought, but it kept me from going nuts. I didn't want to know why he talked to me or what I said to him. Scully cried (again) as she told me that Mulder said I taught him how to stretch before a workout. Damned if I wouldn't have given him the exact same advice she says I did. I think it was partially a residual effect of that African artifact, but mostly I think it was Gibson Praise's influence. I strongly suspect that during puberty Gibson developed the ability to send thoughts as well as receive them. I think he put thoughts into Mulder's brain and Mulder's brain handled it by giving Gibson's thoughts the names and faces of people he was familiar with. 

I could feel Gibson when he thought about me, especially when he and I were in close physical proximity. I think that kid knew I felt sorry for him. I think he knew I was angry at the people who still wanted to hurt him. I think he knew how much he creeped me out even though I knew he would never hurt me. In fact, I know he was in my mind, reassuring me that I wasn't half the fool I looked trying to play lawyer. When he finished testifying, we rode back to the hotel where he was staying. He told me, 'don't be afraid of the bad man, he won't hurt you.' 

I said, 'uhuh,' and left it at that. 

Then he dropped a bombshell. He quoted the last thing my wife said to me before she died. 

"'Listen to me,'" Gibson quoted at me. "'You have a gift that you never use, but if you don't start using it right now, people will die.'" 

That one time I paid attention long enough to open up to it, and sure enough, I could feel that witness being stalked in her hotel. I left Sharon to rescue Scully, but by the time I got back to the hospital, Sharon had died. I shut it down and never willingly opened to it again. Years later, sitting in my car, with Gibson pressing against my mind, I felt stripped naked. He was gentle, but thorough, and very blunt. 

"You shut it down because it frightens you," the little munchkin said, "but it needed a way to come out again. That's how come you keep getting Mulder. It's like he does it for you because you won't do it for yourself." 

"You're being impolite," I told him. I didn't know what else to say. I was barely able to take his meaning, much less believe what he was saying. 

"I'd be scared too," he replied. 

I wish I didn't like that kid so much. 

KRYCEK: Even after all this time I still can't believe how peaceful it was to be dead. I liked myself dead. I liked myself a lot. Not that I disliked myself before, but for the first time I appreciated myself. I don't know how else to put it. 

SKINNER: Mulder left. The dust settled. I felt very tired. All the time. 

KRYCEK: I felt such clarity. The sheer calmness of it; the way it peeled away all the dross of fear and uncertainty and left me the ability to focus and know my own desires clearly. For the first time in my life I felt like a completely free man. I was not afraid of pain. I was not afraid of death. I felt utterly utterly liberated, a man who could go anywhere and do anything. 

Strangely, I wanted nothing. 

Well, that's not precisely true. 

I wanted to crush those Asian and Eurotrash Consortium leftovers. I wanted to make sure they failed in their attempts to rebuild a relationship with the aliens. I wanted to destroy the supersoldiers. I wanted Walter Skinner. When I told him as much, he didn't believe me. 

"You want me to live with you?" He sounded utterly incredulous. "Last time I saw you I shot you in the head." 

"Foreplay," I soothed him. "Besides, things are different now." 

SKINNER: Krycek came to see me again, so changed I almost didn't recognize him. After he picked me up from where I'd fallen over backwards and hit my head, I looked him over carefully. Physically he looked better than ever, but that wasn't it. When I'd first beaten the crap out of him in my Rehoboth beach house he was edgier. Cagier. Showing up at my door after the trial, he looked like a Jehovah's Witness. Or a Hari Krishna. Smug, but serene, with an edge of detachment and a sociopath's dead eyes. He felt incredibly strong. Focused. Once he'd been wood to my steel, but as I stared up at him from the floor of my foyer, I knew those forces were completely reversed. 

I stared at a self-assured man in early middle age and wondered which one of us had gone crazy. He felt denser than a collapsed star, and more unmoveable. He gave me orders, told me of the insane things he had planned for me. I told him to go to hell. I actually hoped he'd kill me. I was tired of all of it. 

KRYCEK: It was a pleasant surprise to discover that I could still plot mayhem without compromising my new-found serenity. Who knew assassins got to go to heaven? The mind still boggles. 

I asked my Jeremiah Smiths what happened to them when they died. They had no answer for me. When they die they mostly stay dead. They couldn't tell me why I felt so calm post mortem. In the grand scheme of things, it doesn't really matter. Zen and the Art of Killing People? If I ever write memoirs, that'll make a great title. 

SKINNER: For the first time in years I was actually enjoying my job. I wrote boring reports. I attended boring meetings. I presented boring papers at boring symposia and said boring things to boring people. It was lovely. I wanted it to go on forever. I went on a date with an awful woman named Dorothy, and I enjoyed every second of it. A normal single middle-aged guy having a normal terrible time with a normal tattooed harridan. When Dorothy called me three times in a week I made up normal wimpy lies about overwork. I went to a normal public toilet and got a normal blowjob from a normal random stranger. Anyone else might prefer a bullet in the head to the life I lived, but compared to what I'd had before, I was in paradise. 

**KRYCEK:**

I went back to see Walter again. He told me, "No, I'm not going to move in with you. No, I don't care how big your house is or how much land you've got. It's over between us, Krycek." All in that molar-grinding way he has of talking, like he's jealous of the words and doesn't want to let them out if his mouth. He would have been a lot more convincing if I hadn't seen his erection tenting the front of his chinos. 

I mocked him a bit, told him it wasn't like him to be so coy. 

He put me out and slammed the door in my face. Tease, tease, tease. Well if he had to force me to do things the hard way, so be it. I thoroughly enjoyed the entire operation of tracking down little William Scully and bribing Walter with his safekeeping. It's a cold-blooded assassin thing, you wouldn't understand. 

SKINNER: One Friday night I came home from work just like on any other night, parked my car, and headed towards the elevators. A limousine pulled up just as I was about to get on, and two goons stepped out. One of them patted me down right there in the parking garage, taking my gun and my briefcase. 

"You won't be needing that," he informed me. He showed me his gun and gestured to the open door. 

I got in feeling absolutely numb, and the limo pulled off again. By the time my eyes adjusted I could see Krycek and a couple of henchmen, all staring at me. 

"What is it, Krycek?" And how many times had I said that over the years? 

He handed me a folder full of photographs. Anycouple, and a baby that looked familiar. When I recognized the child as Scully's son William, my blood ran cold. 

He said, "You're going to come live with me. In exchange, I'm going to keep Scully's baby safe." 

What could I say to that? I studied the picture for a long time, looking for any clue that would tell me where William was. I tried to think of a way out. I even tried to open myself up to that obnoxious thing I can do sometimes, looking for a solution. Nothing. Worst of all, there was no place I could turn for help. It would have been insanity to tell Mulder and Scully that I was being held hostage in exchange for the safety of their son. It would have driven Scully even further off the deep end. I was beaten. 

"I have to be able to see my mother, and my family. And I intend to keep my job." 

"Bargaining for terms already? That's what I like about you, Skinner. So pragmatic." 

I could barely speak, my jaw was so tight. "You'll keep William safe from anyone who tries to hurt him." 

"I said I wouldn't harm him." 

"NO!" I was barking before I knew it. "You'll guarantee his safety or the whole thing's off!" 

He tried to stare me down, but that one was a dealbreaker and we both knew it. 

Eventually he shrugged. He pressed a button on the light panel, and the window between us and the front seat rolled down. 

"Hey, Jerry," says my favorite thug. "You listening?" 

A middle-aged man turned to face us. "I am now." 

I had another shock when I remembered who this 'Jerry' was. Jeremiah Smith, the man who could appear and disappear at will. I stared. I couldn't help it. Mulder told me they'd all been killed. Apparently, dying and coming back to life is much more commonplace than I knew. 

"You know where William Scully is?" Krycek asked. 

The guy nodded. I thought I'd have a heart attack on the spot. Scully'd tried to be so careful... 

"Go find him. Keep him safe. When you start to wear out, come back and trade yourself in." 

The guy nodded again and Krycek rolled the window up. I felt sick to my stomach. I'd just agreed to trade myself for Scully's baby's life. I felt like punching Krycek's lights out, but his security guards would have been on me like stink on shit if I'd made a move in his direction. 

"I need my clothes." 

"Lila will go with you and get them." 

"Lila?" 

"Your new bodyguard." 

And that was it. I was, in the space of a five-minute ride, glove puppet on the end of Krycek's prosthetic. Again. I briefly considered killing myself, but it would have solved nothing. I knew Krycek well enough to know that an innocent kid's life depended on my keeping my part of the bargain. 

KRYCEK: See, I get that I'm a sociopath. I've been dead, I've been crazy, I'm really good at killing people, and I pretty much single-handedly destroyed a plot to sell the human race into annihilation and slavery--a plot which theoretically never existed, except I know it did. Oh, and I treat people like property even though I know it's supposed to be wrong. Bad me. I stole Walter Skinner. Definitely one of my finest moments. As a connoisseur of humanity, I can tell you that the sum of Walter Skinner's worth is not simply his brilliance and his skill at strategic thinking. It's not even his fine dick and the world's most beautiful ass. He has this innate nobility and dignity that I find incredibly attractive, and who could fail to lust after all that tortured ethical certitude. He's not just a better man than I am, he's a primo piece of property. Anyone in their right mind would steal him given the opportunity. 

SKINNER: The minute we turned into the hidden driveway that led up to his house, I understood what it was he wanted of me. I saw the anticipation on his face, and I saw how he tried to hide it. He was bringing his bride across the threshold of their dream home. I didn't know whether to laugh or feel sorry for him, the sick bastard. 

KRYCEK: I admit, I enjoyed torturing Walter. It wasn't personal. Well, actually, it was personal. He acted so fucking superior. I liked that about him, but sometimes it would piss me off and I would do things that hurt him. 

I took away his car keys. Usually one of my guards drove him into work and picked him up at the end of the day. Sometimes, when the mood struck, I drove him, hidden by the tinted windows. Once I heard Doggett make a crack in all innocence about how Skinner was moving up in the world if he had his own car and driver. 

Skinner answered with that clenched-jaw grimace that things were not always what they seemed. 

I ostentatiously re-bugged his office, his bathroom, even Clydes, where he ate lunch every day. 

A few months after he arrived I made him sell his condo and all his possessions except his clothes. 

SKINNER: I'd been in traps before, and I usually figured out how to negotiate my way through them. The strangest thing was, as I realized just how well and truly caught I was, I started to relax. How sick was that? 

On Saturday, Lila accompanied me to my condo and helped me pack my clothes. Krycek was smart enough to have us do it in the middle of a busy day when many people would see me, a bunch of suitcases, and a pretty woman. They would draw the obvious conclusion and think no more about it. Lila played it up, smiling up at me like she was in love. When I ignored her, she poked her gun into my ribs and growled at me to act the part. KRYCEK: See, the life of an assassin can harden you if you let it, but I've always tried to temper the effects of my chosen line of work. I practiced seeing people as real things, not targets or marks, and if I must say so myself, I was quite successful at it. I never did like Mulder all that much, but I tried to put myself in Scully's shoes when I found out they took her eggs and left her barren. It was kinda neat to put that pillow under my t-shirt and imagine what it might feel like to be pregnant. Much later, when I saw her waddling through the bureau hallways, I was stunned to feel a pang of empathy. Been there, done that, Scully. 

SKINNER: He played with me. He sent me to a masseuse, a former Swedish wrestling coach who promised to have me all better in a jiffy. It hurt so badly I had tears in my eyes. I got up off the massage table trembling. 

"You need relaxation or you have an early death," Brunhilda declared. 

She was a bit put off when I growled that I should be so lucky. 

KRYCEK: Anyway, I thought Walter would be upset and angry over the fact that I was controlling his life again. I thought he would take me seriously. Get pissed off. Rail. React. Fight me. When none of that happened, I upped the ante. 

I made him retire due to 'health reasons.' 

Everyone at the bureau was shocked. I know they thought he would be carried out of his office feet first. 

I thought he would fight me over that, but I'd miscalculated again. He just grunted and handed in his notice like a good boy. I was a little excited about the prospect of having him around the house more, but he never does what you expect him to. I actually saw him less. 

After I stole the Consortium's money, I bought a crumbling plantation surrounded by three hundred acres of woodland that backed onto the C &O Canal. It gave me an escape route if I needed one, access to D.C., and all the anonymity I could wish for. No one, I mean NO ONE, has heard of Point of Rocks, Maryland. 

Skinner spent every day in the woods. Every morning he left the house before I got up, and did not come back until the sun went down. He never spoke to me. Or anyone, that I know of. He let his beard grow. That entire summer he played John o' the woods, and there wasn't a damned thing I could do about it. He was keeping his end of the bargain 

SKINNER: I have never told him that I am grateful to him for getting me away from that place. I believe I might have worked there forever, getting sucked into every Byzantine machination hatched by every two-bit, would-be player who ever had the misfortune to be accepted at Quantico. I will never tell him that I was scared every day that I worked in that place, that I lived under layers of armor, feeling small as an embryo and a thousand times more vulnerable. Everything, from my height to my breadth to my suits to my scowl, was protection, and he, Krycek the assassin, made it so that I didn't need them anymore. 

It was hard though, going from an active life to the enforced boredom of that first summer with him. I walked around his property a lot. It's bigger than a fucking national park. Mostly I did it to get away from him, staying out for hours and hours, only coming back when I was dog tired and ready to drop in my tracks. I must have explored every inch of land he owns. Eventually I ended up by the C&O Canal. After I discovered it, I beat a straight path down there the next day, trying to figure out how far down the canal I'd have to hike to get to Georgetown and a public phone. I stood by the banks of the Potomac and asked myself aloud what it would really cost me to try and get away from him. I damn near shit myself when the river answered. It has a wet, gurgly, water-fat voice, but it is definitely speech, and very clear. It speaks in Russian which I know sounds crazy, but... Well, of course it sounds crazy. What have I said that doesn't? 

Anyway, the river answered my question. It said, "Don't try to leave. You will be with him for a long, long time." 

"Great. Now what? A talking fish that offers me three wishes if I'll just throw him back into the water?" 

That fucker laughed. I swear he sounded just like Gibson Praise. 

I'd had enough. I hightailed it back to the house even though I hated that place. Krycek thought the transition from thug to citizen was accomplished by buying expensive furniture. He might have been right, but I couldn't look at his idiotic collection of antiques without wanting to smash them to bits, my way of pulling back the curtain and exposing the wizard for the fraud he really was. 

KRYCEK: Over that summer he started to go feral, like an abandoned cat. That would not do. He was getting calmer, which I didn't understand. He should have been boiling over with rage. 

But what to do, what to do? What would maximally piss off old sanctimonious Skinner? 

One morning I stopped him before he could escape to the great outdoors. 

"You're going with Lila," I told him. 

He hid it, but I knew he was afraid. He got in the car and rode off without any idea of what was in store for him. I spent the whole day waiting for his reaction, and he didn't disappoint. 

"AIDS babies? You sick fuck." I'd made sure to have a few bodyguards around for this confrontation, so he stopped short of actually attacking me. "This is not part of the deal." 

"It is if I say it is." 

He glared at me and then deflated suddenly. "What do you get out of being such an asshole, Krycek?" 

"Do you know what it's like to be dead?" 

"Thanks to you, yes." 

"And you didn't like it?" I was genuinely curious. 

**"NO I DIDN'T FUCKING LIKE IT!"**

"Oh." Just more proof that I was a true anomaly in this world. "Okay." 

I tried to discern what he was thinking. "Rocking babies embarrasses you," I stated baldly. 

"Fuck you, Krycek." 

"I'd let you. If you wanted to." My guards all gaped, but I ignored them. 

"I'd sooner cut it off than stick it inside you again," he growled. He stalked off to his bedroom and ostentatiously did not slam the door. 

**SKINNER:**

Sometimes the unfairness of it overwhelmed me. Just when my life was getting good, Krycek came along and pulled the rug out from under me. My rage ran so deep that it sometimes made me physically ill. I lost weight because I couldn't force food down. When I realized he was deliberately fucking with me I tried to stay calm. I really did. I tried my damnedest. 

**KRYCEK:**

I discovered the hard way that Skinner had anger management issues. I should have guessed. He shot me in the arm twice because he lost control and got angry. I was pushing the gun away when he plugged me between the eyes. He was still pissed about the nanocyte thing, and showing off for Mulder. And he has a bad temper. I didn't really know how bad until he showed me. 

**SKINNER:**

He wanted to humiliate me, and I admit--I was plenty humiliated. He got a charge out of bullying me, pushing me around. I tried to bide my time, but I felt like deep-fried shit, kowtowing to that little strutting bastard. The son of a bitch even took away my credit cards. The last straw, though, was when he moved me into his bed. I came in one night and the room I used was empty. He appeared at the door with a terse order: "This way." 

I assumed, like I often did in those days, that I was going to be killed. Instead, he led me to another bedroom, smirking in that way that drove my blood pressure through the ceiling. 

"You son of a bitch." 

The smirk deepened. "The hard way is, the guards come in here and chain you down. Up to you." 

I got in bed with him, seething. I held myself far away from him, but he just had to push. He reached out to me and I exploded. I turned over, grabbed him by the throat and choked him to death. I was rummaging through his things, trying to find a set of car keys, when I heard his voice behind me. 

"Where do you think you're going?" 

"Fuck!" If I hadn't felt him die beneath my fingers I wouldn't have been so shocked. "How do you keep doing that?" 

He didn't answer me. "Come back to bed." 

"Fuck you," I said. "You touch me again and I'll kill you again, you bastard." 

"Why bother?" 

That brought me up short. Why indeed? I think I lost all my fight in that moment. He stood aside for me to pass and followed me back up to the bedroom. Our bedroom. I don't know whether he actually slept that night, but I know I didn't. Not that night, nor several nights after. 

**KRYCEK:**

I couldn't figure it out. I thought it would be fun, having him around to torture all the time, but after a while it sucked. I thought about killing him, but I never did. My Jeremiah Smith clones laughed at me to my face. They knew how freaked out I was, and they thought it was funny. 

**SKINNER:**

For the longest time I felt worthless. Totally fucking worthless. And the worst part was, I was getting used to sharing a bed with him. We both had our little routines, and it was too much like being married for me not to feel a certain level of comfort. He would unstrap his arm, take his shower, brush his teeth... If he'd had a good day holed up in his den, he would sigh deeply and go right to sleep. On a bad night he would toss and turn, keeping me awake. Sometimes he'd even get up again and go downstairs in his boxers. Not me. Once I fell asleep I slept like the dead. It was all that walking I did. 

KRYCEK: That son of a bitch would sit on the bed in a towel, clipping his toenails, giving away little teasing glimpses of his cock and balls. It was like he was saying 'Lookie, lookie what you can't have any more, Alex.' At first I thought he was doing it deliberately. I almost sent him back to his room again, but that would have felt too much like failure. I pretended everything was going exactly the way I wanted it to. 

SKINNER: I started to plan my escape. Krycek had a lot of bodyguards, and I had Lila, the most evil woman to walk the face of the earth. I couldn't trust any of them. I think I counted a total of eleven Jeremiah Smith clones, but I could never be sure. They smiled at me, but I wasn't sure how loyal they were to Krycek, so I didn't dare pump them for information. And they were everywhere. Sometimes I would find one of them wandering through the woods, staring at trees. It was the strangest thing. They would focus on a tree or a bush, nodding their heads as if conversing with it. One day I asked one of them what he was doing, and he got embarrassed. 

"Not talking to it exactly, but, yes, communicating, in a way." 

He stammered, flustered at being caught doing something so weird. What the hell was Krycek doing with these guys? It was like being in the twilight zone. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner fooled no one. I kept him on a very tight leash, and I think he'd've preferred to take a beating rather than have to ask me for money, but he did it. He has a soft spot for anything small and helpless. You wouldn't think it to look at him, but it's true. A month after he killed me for the second time, he started handing me lists of things they needed at the children's home. Bottle sterilizers, skin lamps, siding, insulation. Finally I just opened accounts at local medical supply stores and hardware stores. I broke into the nursery a couple of times, making sure he wasn't trying to pull a fast one on me. The old raise-money-for-the-poor-orphans scam has time-tested reliability, and I should know, but terminally honest Skinner spent the money exactly the way he said he would. After a while I noticed that he was always dressed and standing at the front door in the mornings, waiting for the driver to take him into D.C. Him and his surly shadow, Lila. 

SKINNER: I never thought I'd enjoy working at the children's home. I tried to hate it because that shitbag Krycek sent me there to humiliate me, but after months and months alone, it was good to be productive again. Barbara, the director, and all around goddess in charge, turned out to be ex-FBI. I thought I'd found someone who'd help me, but it happened that she hated every second of it. The Bureau has something close to a one hundred percent attrition rate for black female agents. Although no one says so publicly, the attitude on the upper floors is, 'if they can't hang tough then shit on 'em'. Too bad. If we're losing people like Barbara, we're hosing ourselves on a grand scale. I almost asked her what the hell she was doing running a home for abandoned AIDS babies when she should be working a real job, but I didn't. She had enough on her plate without putting up with my foul temper. I wondered if Krycek was getting sloppy or if he just didn't care. I'm betting the latter. I know the little prick thought he had me by the short hairs, and the truth was, he did. 

**KRYCEK:**

I felt like a fool, but I spied on Lila and Skinner. She was very pretty, and I didn't want him to fall for her, so I put a bug in the car they used. I shouldn't have worried. Once, when Skinner told her to remember to put the safety on her gun before going into a building where there were little children inside, Lila replied in no uncertain terms that she was an assassin and a good one and didn't need to have some FBI pansy tell her how to use her own weapon. Lila can be a little caustic. Thanks, Lila. 

SKINNER: The home needed a lot of work. I bought an allen wrench, a plumber's snake and a bunch of washers. When Krycek asked what all those tools were doing in the back of his car, I explained it to him. In detail. I found out that Krycek gets really cheesed off if he thinks you feel sorry for him. I didn't bother to keep the sneer off my face when I mentioned that most of them required two hands. His lips drew back from his teeth, and I swear his fingers twitched towards his piece. It was petty, but tough shit. He locked himself inside his den and seethed for hours. 

KRYCEK: I found another group of alien collaborators in Canada. This time I tortured them before I put them down. First I anonymously reported them to the Canada Customs and Revenue Agency, the Canadian IRS. Then, when they were sweating, I hacked into their accounts and stole all their money. Finally, I hired members of a local gang to kill their wives and children, paying the gangs with the money I'd just stolen. When I had them running scared and turning on one another, I left my nice, safe compound and went a- hunting. The eleven surviving members decided to hole up together in their office, desperately attempting to contact their alien masters in a last-ditch attempt to protect themselves. Fools. I loathe men who can't die bravely. I fucked with them while my Jeremiah Smith stood outside the door, watching disapprovingly. 

"You," I pointed to one of them, then pointed at a flunky. "Suck his dick." 

When he refused, I shot him in the head. 

"You," I said to the second one. "Suck his dick." 

He went down on his knees so quickly I almost laughed. 

I had them sucking each other like pros in no time flat. 

"You won't get away with this," one of them growled at me. 

"Make him come and I'll let you go." Damned if he didn't after a while. I shot him anyway. I shot all of them then left the gun at the scene. It'll never be traced. 

SKINNER: I bought a level, five boxes of roof tiles, a staple gun, two boxes of sixteen penny nails, and some roofer's glue. 

KRYCEK: I came back from Canada feeling really good about myself, only to walk full tilt into a Skinner glare. My good mood popped like a bubble, and he noticed and walked away looking very self-satisfied. Hateful bastard. 

SKINNER: I can't believe I had to go back out and buy a hammer. I thought everybody owned a fucking hammer for Christ's sake. 

Barbara needed forty grand to remodel the kitchen. I was going to dip into my retirement fund, but then I remembered a rich rat I happen to know. 

KRYCEK: He told me he needed forty grand. I told him that keeping him was expensive and he got so angry that I was cheerful all day. 

**SKINNER:**

I gave him an ultimatum. I told him I was going to visit my mother at Christmas and Lila wasn't coming. I was stunned when he agreed. I noticed the tail on the Jersey Turnpike and I was actually a bit relieved at his predictability. A Krycek who kept his word would have made me worry. 

**KRYCEK:**

He went to visit his mother at Christmas, and to my surprise I was actually a bit relieved to have the place to myself for a little while. I spent the time wandering around the house, getting drunk and gloating. All in all the year had been a good one. I was killing people who deserved to be killed. For the first time in my life I had a place all my own to live in--a nice place. No more lurking and dodging. No more moving from flophouse to fleabag hotel like a fucking gypsy. I had a place that was all mine. I had a man I wanted in my possession. No, he didn't want to be with me, but that was not an Alex Krycek problem. I suppose a normal man would have felt like an absolute shithole for blackmailing someone into staying with him, but not me. I was pleased as I could be. 

**SKINNER:**

My mother was doing fine. Christmas morning I sat in the kitchen while she cooked me onions-and-eggs. She told me Petey and Zanuta were moving to be near her. I told her I was retiring for health reasons. It galled me to lie to her, but there was nothing she could do to help me, and the truth would only frighten her. I've lied to my family for years, which is awful because I love them dearly, but there is no way I could tell them any of the things I'm involved in. They wouldn't understand. Mom gave me cookies. I ate them all in the car on the way back to Point of Rocks. 

**KRYCEK:**

Over the holidays I started to refine my plans to take down the other Consortium branches. If they thought the hits were anything but punishment from the grays, they would go to ground and I'd never find them. Greed would keep them trying to placate the grays for a while, but eventually they'd discover that they were really suffering from death by collaboration. When that happened they'd start looking for someone to blame. I'd have to make each one think the other was doing it--sow suspicion and distrust. Easy to do with those guys. I felt pretty good about my decisions. Funny how, when I'm working, I feel that same cheerfulness I felt when I first revived. It disappeared whenever Skinner stalked past me, but I fixed that by staying in my den where I couldn't see him. It was fun dropping hints to the Belgians that it was the Russians who killed the Canadians. 

**SKINNER:**

I was still looking for a way to get free. Towards that end I tried to make my life as routine as possible. That's a strategy I learned in the marines. Do the same thing over and over, and even the most vigilant enemy becomes complacent. I went to the orphanage every day and came back every evening. Lila was the first one to relax her guard. Those kids were impossible to resist. Even for her. 

KRYCEK: Lila came to see me in my den one evening and told me she didn't like rocking babies as a cover and would I please replace her. I told her no, tripled her salary, and sent her on her way. I was busy tracking the other branches of the Consortium, looking into the history and whereabouts of their members. It was actually pretty interesting research. From what I'd been able to gather, there never really was a formal Consortium, at least not at first. They were just people who knew stuff everyone else didn't. They traded in secrets. That was their only coin of the realm, their mistress, their god. They kept secrets from each other, and they all kept secrets from the rest of us. I used to wonder at Cancerman's life. Why, with access to all that power and money, would he live in a fucking shithole apartment with nothing to do but watch a tv no bigger than his head? Finally I understood that he gloated over things he possessed that no one else had access to. He was a small and pitiful man when all was said and done. I still wish I'd put two bullets in his head. As for the rest of them, there was no question but that they were regrouping. I had a lot of work to do, keeping tabs on their movements. 

**SKINNER:**

It took me a long time to get used to the smell of babies. Talcum powder and baby shit is a nauseating combination of aromas. I spent as much time as I could on little projects that kept me out of the nursery rooms and in the tool shed. Or on the roof, or in the yard. There was a hardware store about three blocks away, and every time I walked through the doors I felt like a junkie in a crackhouse. Lila got used to me coming and going, and that's when I put my plan into action. Lila is surprisingly nurturing for a sociopath. She liked playing with kids. One day I waited until she'd gotten herself all suited up, then announced that I needed to go to the greenhouse to buy some plants. 

She looked at me in annoyance. 

"Give me the keys. I'm just going to go pick up some plants for the front yard. I'll be back in about an hour." 

I could see her thinking that an hour wouldn't give me much of a head start if I was planning to bolt. She handed over the keys to one of Krycek's cars and off I went. Less than an hour later I was up to my elbows in potting soil and bedding plants. On the way back home that night, Lila told me that the front looked nice. 

"Winter pansies," I grunted. 

Two weeks later I bought some tiny azaleas that had been on sale since October. The place was really sprucing up. 

A week later I bought two industrial size ovens, then returned one. I gave the guy a $400 kickback and pocketed the other three grand. 

Two weeks after that I bought some lime and a computer. I limed the hydrangeas and hid the computer in the tool shed. 

**KRYCEK:**

I spent two months holed up in my office, learning Argentinean Spanish. The Argentinean Consortium was small and relatively defenseless--much less paranoid than the others. Not that they didn't have reason to be. They just thought they were safer than everyone else and didn't need to hide what they were doing. There were, that I knew of, at least six clones of Hitler running around down there. The sick thing was, the real experiments weren't the cloning but the psychological manipulation. These guys had all been deliberately abused and mistreated as children to various degrees. The point was to see if old Adolph's peculiar combination of insecurity and paranoia could be duplicated in a controlled setting. You know, the old genetics versus environment argument. I had to destroy the lab, the scientists, the notes and the little mini-Adolphs running around, and I had to do it in a matter of hours or they'd all go to ground and I'd have a hard time teasing them out again. 

**SKINNER:**

The computer lured me like a martini calls an alcoholic. I was going to do something stupid if I didn't get my hands on it soon, but I couldn't figure out how to get near it without being caught. I'd stuffed it down behind some stacks of empty flower pots, and I swear my hands shook every time I went near it. 

**KRYCEK:**

It was nice of the Argentineans to do some of my work for me. All the Hitler clones were already dead, the pathetic losers. All I did was blow up a few university laboratories and murder a couple of scientists. Pah. SKINNER: 

I came inside one night and Krycek threw a lamp at me. It was so unexpected that I just stood there gaping at him. I would have let myself get brained except Lila dove in front of me and pulled me to the ground. I tried to roll out from beneath her, but she was having none of it. She lay on top of me while lamps and vases went flying and Krycek cursed like a lunatic. When he went looking for something else to throw, Lila pulled me to my feet and dragged me to a spot behind the stairwell where I'd be out of range of flying furniture. I tried to keep her behind me, but she did something to the back of my knee, to this day I don't know what, and I went down and stayed down. She was beautiful, like a preying tigress, and I was hers to protect, even if it meant hurting me in the process. Krycek's tantrum went on for almost ten minutes. When it was silent again, we peeked out, but he was nowhere in sight. Lila turned to me. 

"You okay?" 

I was outraged. That was supposed to be my question. Would have been my question if I hadn't been literally and figuratively hamstrung. 

Lila stared at me and her face hardened. "It's my job to protect you. What would you have done in my position?" 

She had a point. I nodded and let her accompany me upstairs. I hate to admit it, but I hid in the bedroom, trying to figure out what I was going to use as a weapon in case demento-boy decided to come after me. I really wished I hadn't shooed Lila away so quickly. 

KRYCEK: When I'm wired for a kill and don't get one, I get antsy. Normally I go blow off steam on my shooting range, and that helps a lot. I got back from Argentina feeling relatively mellow, but the minute I got home Skinner and Lila pulled up behind me. He looked good. He had on jeans, a lumberjack shirt, and sneakers. I stared at him, thinking nothing, but just as he came into the house Lila said something to him and he turned to her and laughed. A full-blown, flat out guffaw. Suddenly nothing I'd done seemed worth a damn. All my grand plans to take down all the Consortia seemed stupid and pointless. I thought I had my life arranged so perfectly, yet here was Skinner, the man I'd schemed for, the man I manipulated and controlled, and he was laughing for someone else. I lost it. Looking back, I can admit that I was jealous. If he was going to laugh, he was going to laugh for me, not some stupid bodyguard. I lost control briefly, but I wouldn't have hurt him. I remember my clones all running in, gaping at me with their mouths open. I remember how all the bodyguards ran in with guns drawn, then stood there wondering what to do. I let them wonder. Lila was sitting outside our bedroom door when I went upstairs to bed. I think she stood watch that night outside our room. 

Skinner was lying down, but he sat up suddenly, fumbling for his glasses, when he felt me slide beneath the covers. 

"You done breaking things?" 

"For now." 

"Jesus Christ, Krycek." He didn't say anything for a long time. Then finally he muttered, "In the interests of self-preservation, I feel compelled to inform you that they have this drug called Paxil that's helpful for people like you. You might want to try it sometime." 

People like me? That stung, but I didn't let it show. 

"Why, Walter! You care. How touching." It pissed me off that he thought I was off my rocker, but I wasn't going to tell him what had happened. He'd just use it against me. 

"I care about me. You do that often, Krycek?" 

I didn't want to talk about it. "Go to sleep." 

**SKINNER:**

It finally occurred to me as I picked my way through broken furniture the next day--I was living with someone. I was in a relationship. Granted, it was a disgusting, coercive, fucked-up relationship, but it was real. I had a stake in it. I started to monitor myself for signs of Stockholm syndrome. 

**KRYCEK:**

I bought all new furniture but Skinner still looked at me funny. That pissed me off. 

SKINNER: A few days after Krycek's little tantrum, a radio station played the Beatles' 'Maybe I'm Amazed.' I used to love that song. I'd even picked it for our first dance as a married couple when Sharon and I got hitched. Hearing it made me feel depressed as shit. I was so far away from all my hopes and dreams that I felt like I had an invisible 'F' on my forehead for failure. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner sulked for weeks afterwards. Come to think of it, so did I. I would have avoided him, but it was impossible. After all, I'd been the one who'd forced him into sharing a bed with me. I couldn't go sleep on the couch without looking like I was giving in. He was in MY bed so I couldn't hide, but it was hard, sometimes, going upstairs and opening the bedroom door. 

**SKINNER:**

It took almost two weeks to get that damned computer up and running. I had to do everything on the sly, and Barbara got a new batch of volunteers who were always underfoot, so I never had enough time to myself. I finally hit upon a plan. All the babies were supposed to be walked outside at least once a day, so I picked one and took him down to the park, and on the way I stopped by the shed and hid the computer in a diaper bag. God, what a rush. I'd always hated that little microsoft jingle but this time it was music to my ears. I sat on a park bench and played with it until the sun went down and the kid got cranky. He was in full-scale howler mode when we got back, and I got dirty looks from everybody. Skinner the ham-handed. 

**KRYCEK:**

The clones came to me in a delegation and asked me if I would let them build a lab. Apparently they can be rejuvenated before they wear out. I told them I'd think about it. 

**SKINNER:**

It took months. It was March, in fact, before I found what I was looking for. Mulder's weird lone gunmen friends knew a hacker named Lois Runtz, and I finally managed to track her down. One afternoon in early April a young boy rollerbladed up to where I was sitting and asked if he could see the baby. I said no, he was sick, and the kid's face fell. 

"So it's true then. You really are a volunteer in an orphanage for children with... special needs." 

"Who are you?" I demanded. 

"You've been looking for me. I'm Lois... Eve del Harlow. We last met at the funeral for the lone gunmen." 

Thank God. I told her the whole thing. Everything. My affair with Krycek, the deal I'd struck to save William Scully, my living situation, everything. She listened and did me the courtesy of not laughing to my face. Instead she said, "I've looked into your background, Mr. Skinner." 

I knew what was coming. 

"What about the intelligence service you worked for? Why haven't they noticed something is amiss?" 

Oh, she was good. In ten years Mulder hadn't figured it out. Even Krycek hadn't managed to discover that I drew two paychecks. But this woman saw everything. I was glad I'd been completely honest with her. 

"I retired from USMC Intelligence the same time I retired from the FBI. There wouldn't have been any public record of it, or of my service." 

"Trying to preserve your cover?" 

I nodded. 

"What is it you want?" 

I told her. She made me memorize a new email address in case I needed her help again, and told me she'd be in touch. I think I amused her, but I didn't care. A few days later I started getting the information I sought. Krycek's Slovenian. His real name is Bhodan Pesel and he was given away to an orphanage when he was four. One of five children his mother gave away when she couldn't care for them. A Consortium member bought him when he was seven and gave him the name Alex Krycek 

**KRYCEK:**

I was starting to really like my house. Whenever I came back from a mission I felt this little... I don't know. Like a thrill whenever the security gates shut behind me. I was just back from Peru (a place I hate). It was very early Spring. The leaves were coming in pale green and the sun was shining. It felt good to be back. For no reason I could think of, I turned to Jerry and asked him if he and his clones liked it where they were. 

"We've started a garden." 

I guess that was sort of a 'yes.' I asked what kind of garden. 

"We grow flowers. We grow plants that heal. Will you let us have a greenhouse and a lab now?" 

"Why?" I thought better about my suspicions, then voiced them anyway. "What are you planning to do?" 

"We think we can make an inoculant against the black-oil aliens." 

I was staggered. "Out of flowers?" I was playing for time. I didn't think he'd say yes, but he nodded and the bottom dropped out of my stomach. 

"Out of flowers." I know I sounded somewhat menacing, but he just stared at me the way they do and nodded. 

"Out of flowers." 

SKINNER: That thing that happens sometimes happened again when I wasn't paying attention. I let my concentration slip, and the next thing I knew, I started being able to feel the kids when I held them. I usually managed to escape baby-holding duty because there was plenty of other stuff to be done around the orphanage, but this time I was between projects, so Barbara and Lila corralled me into rocking chair duty at feeding time. They gave me Anna, a little dumpling who drooled more than anyone else on earth. I rocked her and fed her, but I could feel her missing someone. Looking around for someone who wasn't there. I asked Barbara who usually fed Anna, and she told me that a lady named Diane usually did it but was away at a conference. A few hours later I gave Anna her evening bottle and I swear she rolled her eyes at me. Dissed by a three month old. I'll never live it down. 

I looked in on Michael, the kid I always took to the park, and he was doing it too, making me feel things. He let me know that he trusted me and it was okay if I wasn't there sometimes. For one weird second he looked into my eyes and I swear he gave me an understanding smirk. When I did a double take, he was just giving me that goofy baby-gaze where they stare at you like, 'oh wow, don't I know you?' The trust though, was a nice feeling. 

**KRYCEK:**

I told the Jeremiah Smiths they could have their greenhouse and lab. I sent them off together to get a truck and the material they'd need, and while they were gone I bugged their dorm. It fried me that I forgot a simple thing like that. My security guards' quarters are all bugged. I listened to them make jokes about Skinner. Behind my back they called me a crazy fag, but I didn't care. 

SKINNER: Michael smirked at me again when I took him for his walk. He looked at me like he was saying 'you're not fooling anybody. I know what you do.' I wished I knew what he was thinking. Probably nothing. Probably, 'why does my underwear smell so funny?' I wished I could touch him without the protective gear. 

**KRYCEK:**

The clones built their lab in a matter of days. Apparently those things come prefab. One of the Jerrys came up to my office and asked if I'd like to install listening devices in there, too. 

I told him to go ahead and install them himself. Slick bastard. 

SKINNER: Michael got a rash. Barbara called the paramedics. A rash on a kid with AIDS can turn fatal. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner started watching the Slovenian news channel for some reason, and for some reason it drove me nuts. I watched it, pretending not to be bothered, but I always ended up gritting my teeth. 

**SKINNER:**

The more I lived around Krycek, the more impossible it seemed that I should ever have fallen for his innocent act. The memory of his gelled hair and ill-fitting suits made my blood boil. I'd resisted so virtuously! Later, when we were fucking, he'd let slip a few things about his upbringing--not much, but enough to let me know he'd been vulnerable much of the time. I'd let it gull me. I'd always imagined, even when I was dying of nanocyte poisoning, that I was the one who was running things. Now I looked at myself and knew that my situation was my own fucking fault. I hadn't seen him for what he was because I hadn't wanted to see. Feeling superior to poor, bad-boy Krycek made me feel in control. 'Well, fool,' I told myself, 'know better next time.' That's why I was able to enjoy watching him turn white every time I switched to Slovenian news. And his tv's can all be set to the same channel, so whenever he left his den he had to put up with the mind fuck of people speaking a language he could almost but not quite understand, the detritus of a life he'd once led. Let him sweat. 

**KRYCEK:**

I decided that I was officially insane. I woke myself up talking in a language I didn't know I knew. I didn't recognize the words even as I said them.. Skinner watched me like I'd grown another head. I felt as stupid as I must have looked, sweating and babbling while he stared at me from across the bed. 

**SKINNER:**

After a while I felt like a turd for torturing Krycek but I kept at it. He freaked out. I should have felt vindicated, but I felt like shit. 

KRYCEK: For some reason I started to remember my childhood. I remembered begging for things, and stumbling to communicate in an unfamiliar language that later turned out to be Russian. I remember being cold and hungry all the time. Whenever I look back at that pathetic little kid I wish somebody had killed him. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael caught another cold. It was getting warmer, so it shouldn't have happened. I had all the air conditioning units cleaned, but beyond that there was nothing I could do. They took him to the hospital again. Barbara took one look at my face and sent me out to the most decrepit outbuilding on the property with orders to clean it up. After a few hours of breaking things and hauling them out to the alley I was calmer. It never occurred to me that I would care what happened to him, but I did. 

KRYCEK: I felt restless. I almost ordered Skinner to fuck me, but we had this weird snarling truce thing happening, and I didn't feel like upsetting the balance, so I was stuck being frustrated. 

Generally, left to my own devices, I won't fuck. Except for with Skinner, sex was always nervewracking, especially when I had to initiate it. I can never get an erection without being reduced to being a kid again, with big men looming over me saying 'You like that, don't you sonny?' And me, smiling, answering in the affirmative because I knew better than to do otherwise. I can go for months without sex. I prefer celibacy, in fact. Skinner, though. He... It's weird. I don't like to really say it, even now. I'm not even sure it's really true. He... Made me feel safe. Even the first time, when I was drugged up and unable to tell him anything but the truth. He fucked me. Not a body, not a hole. Me. It was important to him that I was fully present. I don't think he even liked me, but he saw me, which made me feel very solid and real. Stupid, but there you go. I spent a lot of time angry with him because he does that for me. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael came back. He looked depressed, but when he saw me he started kicking his little feet and waving his arms. 

I picked him up and took him out to the tool shed so I could talk to him. 

"I got ya, buddy. You're gonna be okay." I tried to reassure him as best I could, but he clutched at me the whole time I was feeding him. Big wide eyes gazed into mine and wouldn't let go. I explained to him that I wouldn't be around for a couple of days, and I swear I felt him go all sad and scared in my arms. I tried to think 'three days' at him so he'd know when to expect me again, but I don't know if he caught it. 

**KRYCEK:**

He went off to see his family at Easter. I slept the whole time he was away. I thought about killing him. A lot. 

**SKINNER:**

I thought it would be just me and mom at Easter, but my brother, Zanuta, and the kids all came over. I felt like an outsider, and I guess it showed. Petey dragged me out for a walk and demanded to know what was going on with me. 

I told him I was gay. 

He punched me in the mouth. When he pulled me up out of the snow I just stood there staring at him, waiting for him to pull it together. When he caught his breath he told me he'd known for years that something wasn't right. Ma too. He told me Ma prayed for me every day because she was terrified for me. They hadn't said anything to me because every time they got close to asking I would growl at them and tell them there were things I wasn't allowed to discuss. Ma thought I might be a communist. I'd've laughed if it hadn't been so pathetic. 

Now that I'm out of all that, the truth is so much easier. I told him I was living with a man. 

"That's it? You're gay? That's your big secret? That's all? Gay, fag, homo, queer, pansy, sissy, queen? That's been the problem all these years?" 

I stood there listening to my brother take the sting out of those humiliating words as he recited them, and I felt myself start to tremble. If only that was all there was to unburdening myself. 

Petey saw my tears and misunderstood. He threw his arms around me. "Goddamnit, we're both on the other side of fifty. I want my brother back for all the time we have left, you hear me? Don't ever hide from us again." 

I nodded, unable to speak. 

"Listen," my little brother says, "I'll take care of things with Ma." 

I cried harder. 

**KRYCEK:**

Christ I felt like an asshole. I laughed at myself for being so pathetic. He brought food home, like usual, and this time I ate it all. When he came looking for it I lied. I told him one of the guards must have thought it was free for the taking. 

He came back from Jersey with a big cut on his upper lip. To this day he hasn't told me what happened. 

SKINNER: I came back expecting to find Krycek all upbeat and energized, like he'd been at Christmas. Instead, his gloomy mood surprised me. He didn't say anything, but Krycek squints when he's pissed off and looking for a fight. I tried to avoid him, but he tracked me down. 

"You lose another fight?" 

I declined to answer. 

"You're good at that, aren't you? Losing fights. Spender told me you rolled over for him every time he yanked your chain." 

Well, that tore it. "Funny," I shot back. "Spender never said a fucking thing about you. I don't think he gave a shit whether you lived or died. I don't think anybody did. Or does." 

"You'd better hope I live, geisha girl, because if I go you go with me. Ever think about that?" 

"Frankly, Krycek, dying doesn't sound that bad when the only other option is living with you." 

"That can be arranged. Of course, then I'd have no incentive to keep our bargain..." 

He smirked at me like a man holding all the aces. 

I stalked over to him, took his face in my hands and kissed him. Really kissed him. He was gasping when I was done. "You'll never get what you want from me, Krycek. Tell me how it feels to have to bribe a man just to sleep with you. You pathetic loser." 

"This pathetic loser owns you. Never forget that." 

He stalked off and hid in his den for the rest of the day. I sat in my empty former bedroom and shook. 

God help me, Petey was already dropping hints that he wanted to meet him. Well, no fucking way. 

**KRYCEK:**

We had a fight. Neither of us won. The worst part was, after the fight the Jerrys laughed at me. 

"It would be easier," one of them said, "If you just told him you felt unappreciated." 

I told him he was not invited to comment, but all he did was look at me with that amused expression they sometimes wear. 

SKINNER: I'm glad my father is not alive to find out I'm gay. It would have confused him, hurt him. He was a simple man and he was proud of his sons. Especially me. He never meant to slight my brother Petey, but I was the oldest. I was the one who translated America for him. It was a burden and a responsibility, but God help me, I lived up to it as best I could. 

"Be like your brother," he would say to Petey, but thank God Petey was the opposite of me. After college he went to teach poor Guatemalans how to build wells. My father was distraught, but I understood. That was Petey's way of saying 'see, I am more than just the second son of immigrant peasants. I have something to contribute.' I told Pop that Petey was doing great things and I was proud of him, so he let it be, but I always believed he was admiring the wrong son. 

A few days later Petey called with a report. He told Ma that I wasn't coming back because it turned out I was gay and I was afraid she wouldn't accept me. I told him he was a manipulative bastard and he laughed, hearing the admiration for what it was. He told me Ma cried. Then she went to her priest, and he said it was okay as long as I didn't act on my feelings. Ma asked Petey if I had a boyfriend. Petey said he didn't know. 

"Uh, thanks." I tried not to sound grudging. 

"You're still my brother," he reminded me. 

"You're taking this pretty well." I was almost accusatory. 

"You'll never imagine what I thought the problem was," he rejoined. 

I didn't have the nerve to ask him what he meant by that. Maybe one day I will. 

**KRYCEK:**

Sometimes those damned Jerrys really pissed me off. I didn't feel unappreciated. Asshole. 

**SKINNER:**

I thought about Ma's question about my putative boyfriend. I thought about my bitchfest with Krycek--how I'd been able to read his mood from his expression. 

I went down to the river. "I don't want to get used to living here." 

"Too late for that." 

"You're no help." 

"You are correct." The river showed me his undercurrent of steel-enforced serenity. "I am not." 

I could feel my jaw tighten. It immediately began to ache from the unaccustomed tension and that pissed me off even more. How could living in Krycek's house as a hostage have a soothing effect on me? How could one fight with an assassin knock me off stride? I could hear the belligerence in my tone as I demanded to know just what he was. 

"All bodies of water have spirits, even mud puddles. You just happen to be able to hear me because of that thing you do." 

"How'd you know about that?" I demanded. 

"I can tell which people have it."] 

"What is 'it' exactly." 

I'd swear he sighed. "Human variation. Some people can sing. You can't. Some people can enter the slipstreams of other lives, like you. You connect to others through your sense of obligation. If you feel responsible for someone you just throw out a tether. It's actually quite rude, but since you only do it under duress, you haven't learned how to control it." 

"And you're saying I care for you?" 

"No. I just know how to reach you." 

I walked away, scared shitless. Talking about it made it real, and I didn't want it to be real. I'd felt Krycek before. Did that mean I felt responsible for him? No. No way. No fucking way. 

**KRYCEK:**

Well, okay, maybe I felt a little bit unappreciated. Who wouldn't? I was saving the world and nobody fucking knew or cared. 

**SKINNER:**

I'd been so angry that I'd forgotten about how clearly I felt Krycek, and how sad he feels. I think that's what made me keep welcoming him back all those times--that patient sadness, there behind everything he says or does. I understood all too well. After a while I stopped torturing him with the Slovenian news. The strange thing was, he started seeking it out for himself. I could sense his fascination as he watched it. 

**KRYCEK:**

I killed another bounty hunter. One of the Jerrys helped me. They can sense them, no matter how well they're disguised. Then I destroyed two geneticists by injecting them with black oil. That made all the other remaining branches nervous. I know because I monitored a flurry of message traffic as all the remaining Consortia tried to figure out what was happening. They took it as a sign that the aliens were interested in re-opening negotiations. Greedy swine. I felt very righteous. Let's see Skinner misdirect people as well as I can. It'll never happen. 

**SKINNER:**

Anna died. I went to her funeral with a bunch of other volunteers. Stands of flowers dwarfed her teeny casket. Her regular volunteer, Diane, was almost prostrate with grief. "She was such a good baby," she told anyone who would listen. "I held her right up to the end. She knew I was there with her the whole time." 

What could I say? I put an arm around her and wouldn't let her fall. 

Lila was there. Her eyes were very red and her nose was blotchy. She wouldn't look at me. I don't blame her. By the time I got back to the home I was so angry I wanted to kill somebody. Hell, I wanted to kill everybody. I went straight to Michael's crib and had a silly conversation with him when nobody else was around to hear me. 

"You're alright, aren't you buddy? You'll probably kick this thing, won't you?" I put gloves on and changed his nasty diaper but he was listless and a little out of it. For a moment I resented the hell out of William Scully. How come he got to be healthy and perfect when the only kid I would ever get to know was sick and getting sicker? 

KRYCEK: One day in mid-summer, Lila came to see me with a strange look on her face. That was another mistake I'd made with Skinner. I should have rotated his guards so that none of them started to feel attached to him. I was Lila's boss, but Skinner was the one she protected, and her loyalties were to him, not me. She seemed very uneasy. 

"You told me to watch him, and I do." 

I said nothing, waiting to see where this was going, letting her sweat. 

"That's all. Just watch. Not interfere." 

It took effort to keep my face still, but I did it. 

"Today I watched him buy a crib." 

So what? Skinner bought all sorts of things for the orphanage. I was stumped for a while, then I realized what she was trying to tell me. 

"Where did he put this crib, Lila?" 

"Upstairs, sir." 

I thanked her woodenly and she got up and left. Sure enough, when I went up to check it out, there was a baby lying on his side of the bed and Skinner was setting up a crib. 

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" 

"What the fuck does it look like?" He shot back. Damn. This was Skinner, defender of the weak and helpless, back in full force. If I fought him on this we'd all lose. I kept my mouth shut and glared. 

Skinner glared back at me, his jaw tight and defensive for the first time in months. 

"I know you're looking for the angle, Krycek, but there isn't one. Michael is staying here because he needs more care than he can get at the home. And I'm sure you're probably looking for some way to make me pay for this, but I'd appreciate it if for once you'd just let it be." 

Strange how dignified he is when he thinks his back is to the wall. 

**SKINNER:**

I knew how moody and weird he could be. I don't know where I got the nerve to stand up to the crazy bastard, but I was keeping Michael and that's all there was to it. 

**KRYCEK:**

The minute I saw that kid I knew he was a goner. I'd seen dying babies before, and I knew the look. Their faces are too pointy and their eyes are too big. They don't focus on anything. That kid's days were numbered. You'd think Skinner would've seen it for himself. 

"They don't hand babies over to just anyone. How'd you get them to give you a child?" 

"I gave them more of your money." 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner was pathetic. He bought an oxygen tank, and a heat lamp, and a big tube of zinc oxide lotion. I left him to it. If he couldn't harden his heart against one dying kid he was a fool. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael immediately did better. The oxygen mask helped a lot. 

**KRYCEK:**

I went and found Greta and beat her to death. I made it look like a home invasion, but I really took my time and made her suffer. Rat me out and get away with it? I don't think so. When I got back home I didn't recognize my own bedroom. Skinner had bought two new sets of shelves and they were full of baby bottles and prescription bottles and diapers and really, really, really tiny t-shirts. I couldn't even mock him. He had a hard look on his face when he saw me come in, but he had nothing to worry about. For once I was completely speechless. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael's t-cell count dropped another three points. The doctors said it could be anything and that I shouldn't worry about it. They were telling me as gently as they could that he was getting sicker, but when they tried to get me to talk to a bereavement counselor I told them to go to hell. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner said he wanted to hire a live-in nurse's aide. I shrugged and said he could. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael's count dropped again. I stared at the doctor's report for hours on end, willing the numbers higher. 

**KYRCEK:**

Skinner got weird. Lila reported to me that he took the kid to an acupuncturist and a naturopath. 

**SKINNER:**

The nurse's aide quit after a week. I hired another one. 

**KRYCEK:**

What's a chelation therapist? I still don't really know. 

**SKINNER:**

I had to stop working at the home because Michael took all my time. He needed a lot of looking after. 

KRYCEK: What's spirulina? What the fuck is chakra therapy? For that matter, what's chakra? 

**SKINNER:**

The nurse's aides were very unreliable. 

KRYCEK: Lila told me he took the kid to some kind of quack with a sound machine or something. The guys works out of an apartment in Chevy Chase and Skinner had to swear he wouldn't tell the FDA what was going on. Sheesh. 

**SKINNER:**

One day I took Michael and his diaper bag out for a walk in the woods. I wrapped the computer in plastic and hid it in the hollow of a dead tree. Whenever I could I went out to look for alternative treatments for him, anything that might help him feel better. Get better. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner went from weird to downright nuts. A psychic healer? I finally broke down and hired another nurse's aide when I found him standing in front of the open refrigerator, sleeping on his feet. I told him to try not to scare this one off like he'd done the others. 

**SKINNER:**

Along with Michael getting sicker, Krycek started acting really strange. He stopped going on his little trips and started to drink heavily. I smelled it on him when he came to bed. It drove me crazy. I went back on ulcer medication and tried to ignore his constant boozy presence, but it was hard going. One night I woke up to the sound of him slurring drunkenly over Michael's crib, singing to him in Slovenian. A lullaby from the sound of it. I wanted to kill him. Couldn't he have a little respect for a dying baby? 

**KRYCEK:**

That entire Summer and well into the Fall I drank too much. Sometimes I wanted to scream at Michael to just die already and get it over with. Quite wasting my time. Skinner looked like he was about to cry all the time. One night, drunk, I went down to my shooting range and missed 48 out of 60 times. 

**SKINNER:**

I went down to the river. 

"He's dying." 

"Ask the duplicates for help. They want to help." 

"The duplicates?" 

"The same man, over and over and over," the river explained. 

It never occurred to me that the clones could heal HIV. 

Could I bypass Krycek and go ask for their help? At the time I still wasn't sure I could trust them. 

Instead, I went to Krycek's office, knocked on the door and told him I needed to speak with him. I'd never been in his little hidey-hole before, and it vibrated so strongly with his presence that I felt weak and insubstantial. 

He turned the tables on me. "What do you want, Skinner?" 

"I'm here to beg for his life. Let one of the Jerrys heal him before it's too late." 

He stared at me as if he'd never seen me before, and finally I couldn't stand it. "Please, Krycek, I'm on my knees, here. Save him." 

**KRYCEK:**

It was a strange moment. I never expected it, but when it came I took full advantage. Skinner came and begged me to save Michael. It honestly never occurred to me that the Jerrys could cure AIDS, and I took the biggest gamble of my life. If it hadn't worked... well, I don't want to think about it. 

"What do I get in exchange for healing him, Skinner?" 

His voice shook. "Anything you want. Look," he said when I didn't answer right away, "I wouldn't be here if you didn't want me. I wouldn't be in your bed. You want a husband? A real husband? I will be that. You want a wife? I will be that too. Boyfriend. Whatever you say, just..." 

He had to stop. His voice was shaking. I waited for him to pull it together, feeling drunk from the power he was offering me. I felt like god. No. Like GOD. I was now the be-all and end-all of his world. If it worked. 

"What exactly do you want me to do?" 

"Let them heal him. And then I'm going to adopt him." 

I let him stew. "Adopt him? I might find it in me to let the Jerrys heal him, but there's no reason for me to let you adopt him." I was loving it. "I think it might be more fun to put him back into the social services system. Send you pictures every now and again. Michael playing lookout for crack dealers. Michael's first day at some substandard ghetto school. Michael getting rousted by police. Michael's first day in jail. Sort of a biography of the kid you saved. Tried to save." 

He went down on his knees. " _Please_ Krycek." 

I stared like I was very bored. "That's so undignified. Get up or it's no." 

I think that's the moment I enjoyed the most. Watching him scramble to his feet and wait for me to hand down my decision. 

"If I do this, you will owe me every moment of every day for the rest of your life." 

He didn't hesitate for a second. "You have it." 

I just smirked. "Wait here." 

I went upstairs, got the kid out of his crib, and took him to the Jerrys' dorm. I handed him to the first one I saw. "He has AIDS. Heal him." 

Jerry damned near lunged for the kid, folding him into his embrace while I stared. "Thank you," he whispered. 

Light flashed, and for a moment Michael's body was surrounded by a halo that glowed so intensely that I had to look away. When my eyes stopped watering, I found myself surrounded by all the Jerries. They didn't say anything, just stared as the one who'd been holding him handed him back to me. 

When I put Michael back into Skinner's arms he looked at me like I'd just saved the planet. 

"Forever," I reminded him. 

"Forever," he agreed. 

**SKINNER:**

I didn't dare believe. I was sick for almost a week, unable to eat, unable to sleep. I told myself I was only imagining an improved appetite. I told myself I was only imagining that his excema was disappearing. I told myself that it was probably all explainable by science. Finally, shaking, I took him to his pediatrician and insisted that he be tested for HIV. The doctor stared at me like I was crazy, but the test came back negative. There was no trace of the virus in his blood. No trace. The doctor looked sage and tried to pretend he knew what was going on, but I knew I'd gotten a miracle. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner brought Michael home from the doctor's office and got drunk. He took his bottle and walked outside and didn't come in until very late. I gave Michael rice and strained peas and put him to bed. I went to the shooting range and nailed fifty-nine out of sixty. 

SKINNER: Krycek adopted Michael. He wouldn't let me add my name to the adoption papers, but I didn't say a word about it. Michael was alive and getting healthier by the moment. I know the rat wanted a rise out of me, but I was too wrung out to do anything but nod my agreement. He had me, and we both knew it. 

"You want me to fuck you now?" I offered. I'd find the strength from somewhere, and if not, there was always viagra. 

Always magnanimous in victory, he demurred. "Later, when you're up to it." 

"Thanks." I meant it, too. Whatever it took. 

**KRYCEK:**

You'd think I'd leap at the chance to get it on with Skinner, but I wouldn't let him fuck me right away. I couldn't. Ever since I'd adopted Michael I'd started dreaming about Jarokal; it was the first time I'd thought about her in years. We'd met when I thought I was renting a whore for the night. I didn't know she was mine until after we finished fucking. I got up to leave and she followed me. 

"You buy me," she explained. 

Well, shit. I went and found the pimp who was really a broker and asked what the fuck was up. It turned out that he stole girls from mountain villages and sold them in the city. I was stupid enough to want to look like a hero, so I put the fear of God into the little slimeball and together we tracked down the rest of the girls from his last raid. Then I killed him and brought the girls back home to their villages, all except Jarokal. She insisted on staying with me, tracking down more of her home-girls who were doing time as maids and whores. She was stronger than steel. She called me Alis. In the dreams she always smiled at me and put a plate of food in front of me. Simple food. Beans and meat over rice. Sometimes I wish with all my might that I hadn't had to kill her. 

**SKINNER:**

Barbara gave me hard looks when I said I was taking Michael home to give him better treatment. I didn't dare tell her the truth about my living situation but she knew something was not right. She was very harsh with me. 

When she found out Krycek was adopting him she read me the riot act. 

"He's not a pet." 

"He won't stay small and cute forever." 

"One day down the road you may look at him and be frightened of him because he's black and a man, don't forget that." 

"I hope you don't care what other people think, because you will get comments. You know that, right? If he turns out well, black people will resent you for taking one of ours. If he turns out badly, they'll say it was because you mistreated him because he's black. White people will resent him because you have a lot of money. And no they won't say so to your face, they'll just mistreat him behind your back. Are you ready to handle all that?" 

She scared the shit out of me. By the time she'd finished raking me over the coals I was shaking with nerves. I realized later that she was testing me. Preparing me, if truth be told. At the time all it did was make me stubborn. And angry. Fuck with my kid and I'll rip your guts out angry. 

**KRYCEK:**

The hell of it was, the night he finally reached for me, I wasn't ready. We'd been in the same bed, celibate, for more than a year, and I'd gotten comfortable with the situation without realizing it. Who knew a change would be so frightening? Worst of all, I didn't have nerve enough to tell him to stop. What would I have said? 'Oh, I was just kidding?' 

**SKINNER:**

For a year I had been ignoring the cloud of sleep-scented Krycek musk that wafted over me every morning, but not any more. Pathetic to say I couldn't get enough of him, and I resented like hell the fact that he'd manipulated me into fucking him, but I was starving for him. I told myself it was just because I was horny, but I love the way he smells. God. 

KRYCEK: Skinner fell right to sleep after sex. If I didn't get to bed early enough he fell asleep before sex. He started putting his arms around me when he slept. More than that. He held on to me. He's very big and warm, and he would clamp one arm around my biceps and sleep like the dead. I stayed awake as long as possible, enjoying the sensation of being inside his grasp. 

**SKINNER:**

I spent the next year in a fog. It was the only way I could stand to be alive. Now that he was better, Michael was a handful. I'd never been around a small child before and I didn't know how active they were. Between Michael running around all day long and having to fuck Krycek at night, it was the worst year of my life, which is saying something. 

My mother was appalled. She asked Petey if I was going to have a sex-change operation. Petey'd told her I was gay, and now, little more than six months later, I brought Michael to see her. She didn't know what to think, so she fell back on an old standby. 

"He's a black baby, Valter. You should let them take care of their own." 

"I'm keeping him, Ma." 

She just shook her head. I know she wondered what the hell happened to me. For her midlife crisis she took to wearing slacks. For mine, I'd apparently decided to trade in my slacks for a dress. 

The next time I came back all the neighbors were peeking from behind their curtains, hoping to get a glimpse of the infamous ex AD and his infamous black baby. I swear I hate my people sometimes. So fucking insular. 

Finally Ma sighed and picked him up out of his carrier basket. I reflexively caught my breath, but reminded myself that he was HIV-negative and it was safe for her to touch him. She thought I was questioning her commitment to her new grandbaby and her eyes clouded with hurt. 

"I never hurt a baby, Valter. I love him just like I love the others," she told me with quiet dignity. 

"I know, Ma." Was that my voice cracking? Surely not. 

Eventually his picture went up on the table with her other grandkids. I'd never imagined it would mean so much to me to see him there, but I felt as proud as if I'd given birth to him myself. In a strange way it felt like I'd finally done something unequivocally right. 

**KRYCEK:**

For a long time after I adopted Michael I didn't know what to make of my life. The Jerrys played in their experimental gardens. They built a cloning tank in their lab so they could replace themselves when they wore out or died. Every once in a while they would ask my permission to go haring off on some rescue mission or another. I usually said yes. Lila sneaked them out to the orphanage and I pretended not to notice. I got used to having sex again--not nearly as difficult as I thought it would be. Skinner spent all day running around after Michael. I spied on them a lot, eavesdropping when he sang to Michael in the bath or fed him from those teeny bottles of creamed vegetables. Those days, he always smelled of talcum powder. I spent a lot of time manipulating the stock market so that Consortium investments lost money. Whoever said 'Hit them in the pocketbook,' sure knew what she was talking about. Simply watching how money got reshuffled told me where the Consortium's interests lay. Then I would investigate and tell the rebels where activity was flaring up again, and they'd go take care of it. And all from the comfort of my own home. 

The point is, it was so calm and peaceful that sometimes I shook for no reason. I literally quaked with fear spying on Skinner when he put Michael down for a nap. 

**SKINNER:**

That whole year I was scared shitless. I'd never been anyone's father, and I didn't know if I was doing it right. All I really remember was being tired. When it got to be too much I let the clones babysit. They didn't mind. In fact, they loved it. For his first birthday they bought candles and a cake and we all sang to him in the kitchen. He smiled, well, like a baby. I didn't let on that I'd forgotten about such things. 

KRYCEK: When Skinner and the clones celebrated Michael's first birthday, I wasn't invited. I never got to sing happy birthday to Mikhail, either. It hurt. I can't believe how much it hurt. 

**SKINNER:**

For months I tried to hate my traitorous dick. It got hard at the sight of Krycek's ass, whether I wanted it to or not. I would have genuinely liked to have been unable to get it up, but it rose for me night after night. Correction. It rose for him. I tried to tell myself it was a chore, an evil duty, my penance for daring to love and care for someone. The truth was, I didn't know how I felt. I'd missed having sex. Krycek felt good in my arms. My resentment rang false against my unremitting lust, but I still felt used. 

The only good thing was that Michael was alive and getting better all the time. His pediatrician said he'd caught up completely, and he was making up for lost time. Everything was new and interesting to him, and I loved watching him discover his life, even if it wore me out in the process. He would throw his bottle across the room and look at me, grinning, and I would fetch it like a loyal dog, grinning back helplessly. I watched him play thrilling games like throw the ball, drop carrots on the floor, and eat- the-chair-leg. Krycek stared. The clones stared. I should have felt like a fool, a one-time Assistant Director for the FBI, crawling around on the floor with a little kid, but I couldn't bring myself to care how I looked. 

I took some mean-spirited pleasure in converting Krycek's collection of antiques into a downstairs nursery. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner carried Michael around in a knapsack contraption. He bought him hats and jackets and tiny little timberland boots. It made me think about all the things I hadn't gotten to buy for Mikhail. It drove me nuts that I'd never gotten to know him. I didn't know what to do, so I went away and stayed away for a long time. I came back when I was feeling more together, but trust Skinner to fuck things up. When I walked in he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for me. 

"Where the fuck have you been?" 

I was astonished. He never inquired about my comings and goings. "What business is it of yours?" 

"You didn't tell me where you were, or how long you'd be gone. What if you'd gotten killed? They'd take Michael away and there's not a damned thing anyone could do about it. You ever stop to think about that?" 

Um. Well, no. 

That terrified me. I'd poisoned my own son, and I'll never be sorry I did it, but Michael was alive, and I'd fucking well make sure he was taken care of. 

The next day I made arrangements to have Skinner's name added to the adoption papers. I gave one of the Jerrys custody too, and made them all swear they'd take care of Michael if anything happened to me and Skinner. I made plans for a trust fund for him with Skinner as trustee. It was all I could do, but I didn't know if it was enough. 

SKINNER: Time to get my ass in gear. I took Michael down to the river. 

"Long time no see." 

"I've been tired." 

"I know." 

"This is my son." 

"I know." 

I dunked Michael in the water. It was late fall. The water was icy. He came up howling. 

"You know him now." 

"I do." 

"Do not ever let him die by water." 

"I swear it," the river answered. 

"Any water." 

"Any water," the river repeated. 

I felt better after that, but I wasn't finished. 

At home I assembled a rope a gun, a knife, matches. This is my son, I told each of them. He will not die by any of your doing, or that of your kin. 

Okay, so I'm a superstitious, pitiful, regressed excuse for a human. I couldn't help myself. 

I went back to the river and asked if they'd all heard me. He said they had. I was ashamed of myself, but I felt better for my attack of Animism. 

**KRYCEK:**

I would have never believed it, but Michael missed me. The morning after I got back he sat up in his crib and cried, reaching for me and tracking me with his eyes until Skinner brought him over and put him in my lap. He sat and 'talked', babbling and patting my face while Skinner and I gaped. I didn't know he even knew who I was, and judging from his shocked expression, neither did Skinner. I liked holding him. Michael had the coolest hair in the world. He smelled like butter, and his skin was the color of a hershey's kiss. 

**SKINNER:**

Krycek bought Michael a toy. I was stupid to get jealous, but the next day I went out and bought him a bigger toy. It was idiotic to piss off a psychopath, but I did it anyway. Krycek glared at me, and the next day Michael had a big wheel and a speak- and-spell. 

Thus began the great Skinner-Krycek toy war. 

KRYCEK: Skinner and I had a toy fight. After two weeks it wound down to its logical conclusion. The entire downstairs was cluttered with Michael's toys and he was bored with all of them. Christmas was utterly anticlimactic. 

**SKINNER:**

I found out that the Jeremiah Smith clones are big gossips. They all loved Michael and would dote on him endlessly whenever I needed to decompress. They also talked to me about Krycek at the drop of a hat. It was an interesting perspective. 

Lois contacted me again with more information about Krycek's childhood. Apparently the Consortium had training schools in America, East Africa, West Africa, the Middle East, Argentina, Tibet, and a couple in South-East Asia. I wonder what happened to all those kids. Is Krycek one of the lucky ones who got away, or is he one of an army of dozens? How the hell many assassins does one group need? 

One day when I asked him, he told me he didn't really have a childhood, which I can believe. I didn't think I let my feelings show on my face, but I guess my eyes told on me. He turned red and looked away, but a moment later his jaw tightened and he gave me a look that might have killed me if I'd been standing any closer. 

**KRYCEK:**

One day he looked at me over the baby's crib and said, "I'm glad I shot you." 

What the hell was that supposed to mean? I thought about his expression when he sighted down the barrel. I was half out of my head with pain, but I remember his expression, his cold determination. Skinner's not one to pull his punches. He wanted me to know he was happy about what he'd done. 

I thought of half a dozen snappy comebacks but finally settled on "Why?" 

"Jerry told me about your plan." 

Oh. Of course. I hadn't told any of the Jerrys not to tell him, I'd just assumed my conversations with them were private until told otherwise. 

"I'll have to have a talk with them," I muttered. What else was there to say? The image of him, bending over that kid of his, telling me he'd sooner see me dead than in the hands of the supersoldiers is one that stays with me to this day. He was saying that in spite of everything he cared what happened. 

We stared at each other over the crib. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing. 

**SKINNER:**

So. Little Bhodan Pesel grew up to have a soft side. Who would have guessed? Krycek's cloddish attempts to actively become part of Michael's life did wonders for my ego. I thought I sucked at the whole parenting thing until I watched him clumsily attempt to feed, dress, or amuse Michael. He really sucked at it, and I didn't help him. He watched though. I'll say that for him, and over time he began to learn. 

**KRYCEK:**

The Jerry's gave me something to drink that tasted like cinnamon. It was the inoculant against the black oil. For a moment I let myself dream of how rich I'd become. More than a moment, actually. I was back to my old self, the man who did not have a regular life. The man who would hold an entire world hostage to this inoculant. I'd be richer than Bill Gates and the Queen of England combined. I knew how to get the ball rolling, too. Let some of those pictures of Marita slip to the press. Let it slip that I and I alone had the antidote. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I was pissed off at myself and I took it out on the Jerrys. 

"Show me something that controls the supersoldiers," I ordered. 

As usual they ignored my bad mood. We're working on it," was all they said. 

SKINNER: Michael called me dada. He called Krycek duh. I pointed to Krycek, and said 'Krycek,' and Krycek lost his temper. 

"Alex," he hissed at me. 

His rage was as awful as it was unexpected, and it took me completely by surprise. 

"Jesus, Krycek, what's wrong with you?" 

"I can take him away, you know." 

Now it was my turn to get angry. "You would, wouldn't you, you selfish son of a bitch. Look at him!" I pointed to Michael who was sitting in his high chair, staring at us with wide, frightened eyes. "Why would you do that to him?" 

That drained the fight right out of him. "I didn't... I wouldn't..." 

"Then don't say it. Just don't fucking say it. You want him to call you Alex? Fine. But there's no reason to scare him." 

"You mean scare you." He was all too perceptive. "I know you care what happens to him." 

Oh yeah? Well it so happens that I've learned how to be emotionally manipulative from the best of them. Kudos, Sharon. 

"No," I said. "I don't 'care what happens' to him. I love him, and I think you do too." 

Just then Michael started to wail. I picked him up and shushed him, and this time, instead of walking away where no one could see us, I sat down at the kitchen table, patting his back, rocking him, speaking gently to him. Krycek watched, obviously on pins and needles, distressed at having made the baby cry. It took every ounce of generosity I had, but after Michael calmed down a bit, I handed him to Krycek. 

"Tell him you're sorry." 

"Lo siento, mi hijo," he murmured. I'm sorry, my son. Then he switched to English. "You want some breakfast? What do we have here? We've got... um, cereal, and cottage cheese and apple sauce. Yum." 

As I watched, he propped Michael against his prosthetic and tried to feed him, but Michael wiggled down and ran to me. I could see another storm cloud rolling in over Krycek's features and did my best to dispel it. 

"He always eats in his high chair. Routine is very important." 

He scowled, but he nodded. 

**KRYCEK:**

Lila quit. I gave her a big bonus and had the clones wipe her memory. I liked her. 

**SKINNER:**

So I tell him routine is important and what does he do? He gets me a new bodyguard. I was very pissed. Why be such an asshole? 

**KRYCEK:**

The year I lived with Jarokal was the best I'd ever had. I got her anything she wanted and felt great about being able to provide for her. TV shows bored her, but she loved infomercials. She asked me for every gizmo from every infomercial ever made. I laughed at her, but I bought them anyway. It made me feel like a man. I knew shit about being part of a family. Never really learned, but I liked giving her things. I can't imagine what Jarokal really thought of me. On the other hand, I knew with absolute certainty that Skinner thought I was lower than shit and twice as foul. Well, fuck it. Let's see him destroy an international conspiracy. I'm still very good at what I do. 

SKINNER: Every time another change came over our lives I had a serious attack of doubts. I signed papers that legally made me Michael's parent. I thought about my upbringing and realized with despair that I couldn't give him what my parents had given me. What the fuck made me think I ever could? In my life I'd only ever done one thing well, and Krycek took that from me. The adoption papers said I was a fit parent because I provided an integral part of a stable, loving family environment. I did no such thing. I'd brought Michael to stay with me because I selfishly wanted him to continue to live, but now that he was alive and well I had other responsibilities to him and I wasn't sure I could live up to them. I consoled myself by remembering that in some ways his life would be much easier than mine. He would not, for instance, bear the burden of being the family American, like I had. 

"Valter, you read this for me?" 

Pop held out a stack of papers and my heart sank. I could tell as soon as I looked at them that they were in a dense legalese that I was completely unfamiliar with. Still, with my father's patient, hopeful face in front of me, I took them and did my best with them. I had a basketball game to win because my father loved sports. Finals were coming up and I knew I had to ace them if I was going to get into college prep courses instead of getting stuck in the voc-ed track. I would only be able to decipher those papers between study-time and practice. Somehow I managed. I was nauseous from lack of sleep, but I aced my finals. No time to tell my dad what I'd done because the next day I had to go win the junior varsity championship. 

"Run mit der boll, Valter. Run mine zohn!" My parents loved to watch me play. They were always at my junior varsity games, flushed and proud of me, and always, we left as soon as we could, before my parents had to speak with their broken English to the other parents. Always running away quickly to savor our victory in private. 

My mother would rush to the kitchen. "Rugalach,Valter." Coming back with a platter piled high. 

My father sat in his chair, reliving the details with me and Petey. "Be like Valter," he would say to Pete. "Your brother he will be a great man. You watch." God help me, he thinks that's what I became. 

I remember how my parents were so scared, sitting in the real estate agent's office. I'd gone with them to translate and interpret, and I knew how much was on the line. I'd pestered my schoolteacher, Mr. Lemnick, to help me learn what all those words meant--lienholder, interest, points--until he finally sent me to the local library to get me out of his hair. 

That day was a revelation to me. I was stupid with fatigue, confused, and not quite able to comprehend the transformation that took place in front of my very eyes. My solid, dignified father became humble and uncertain, almost groveling in the face of a low-rent real estate lawyer. 

He clutched his hat in his hand. He bowed. He wore a fixed, servile smile. I wanted to yell at him that this man was nothing. He was not a person to whom a great man like my father should bow. Later on I understood that to a simple man the power of the law is vast and mysterious. And for us, at that time, there was still so much to be afraid of. 

Watching my father grovel before that lawyer burned a deep impression into me. I swore then and there that it would never happen again. I went back to Mr. Lemnick with one more question: What do I have to do to go to law school? 

**KRYCEK:**

For no reason at all I went back to the Res where I'd kept Jarokal safe. Tried to keep her safe. We never had much to show for ourselves, but we'd been happy. I wondered what she'd think of my fine new house, my security guards, my state-of-the-art cctv system. I tried to gin up some kind of emotion for her, but I don't believe in ghosts. She was dead and gone. That was that. She was really nice, though. I wish I hadn't had to kill her. 

**SKINNER:**

Around Christmas Krycek took off again, but this time he left a note: 'Went to Arizona. Back Tuesday.' It was what I'd asked for, but all it did was underscore the difference between what I'd grown up to expect and what I now had. The more I wanted to be like my father, the more I conceded that it would be impossible. My father did not talk to my mother, nor she to him, but every Friday for fifty years he brought his paycheck home and handed her the whole thing. She always gave him back ten dollars so he could go out and get drunk, and when he came staggering home, she always pretended to frown in disapproval. Every Sunday she went to Mass early, then came home and cooked for him, all his favorites. He would groan with delight as she brought the dishes out, every time. She would hide her smile, but she watched him eat every bite. Each Mother's Day he brought her flowers and called her little mother. Tears streaming, she put the flowers in a plastic water glass (she didn't own a vase until I bought her one). Now that Pop's dead, she keeps a candle burning by his picture and prays to the Virgin for his peaceful rest, but through it all they never said a word. They didn't have to. They understood that they loved each other and belonged together, and so did I. 

Once, my mother said to me, "Your father brings me home his money every week. Every week!" 

I heard the pride in her voice and knew what she meant. My father took care of his family and she loved him for it. I understood from what she said that this is what it meant to be a husband, to be a man. 

What more was there? 

After I got married I found out they'd done things all wrong. They were supposed to talk to each other. The faithfulness, the steadfastness, the silent communion--none of it was American enough. The old way was no good, but we didn't know to change our habits. My fault. I was the oldest. It was my job to translate--to explain the subtleties of American custom. It was my job to know. 

Now here I was, stumbling and ashamed once again, not knowing how to do my job. I didn't want Michael to think his daddy was a screw-up, but with me living like a concubine in Alex Krycek's house, how could he think I was anything else? Again, here was a task of critical importance, and again I didn't know how to get it done right. 

**KRYCEK:**

It had been more than ten years. Plenty of time to think. She did not love me, but I know she liked me, and she relied on me, which is almost the same thing. I don't think I loved her either, but I needed her, which is not like love at all as far as I can tell, but she was nice to me, and I trusted her, which is better than love, in my opinion. I did not love Skinner but I knew how to control him. I couldn't help but love Michael, but I didn't know how to care for him. Skinner loved Michael, but he would take his son and leave if I let him. I didn't know what to do. 

**SKINNER:**

Krycek jumped in my shit about calling Michael 'boy.' He pointed out, quite reasonably, that that's the last thing a black kid should get used to hearing. I felt frustrated. 

"I can't teach him how to be black, Krycek." 

"Well you'd fucking well better learn how," he shot back. "One day he'll be sixteen and he'll start getting pulled over for driving in the wrong neighborhood. Or did you forget?" 

I didn't want to admit that I hadn't thought that far ahead. Shit. He wasn't even two years old. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner bought Michael a copy of the Black History Encyclopedia. When I pointed out that Michael couldn't read yet, he went out and bought pictures. Nelson Mandela, Harriet Tubman, Frederick Douglas. I'd've laughed if he hadn't been so sincere. 

**SKINNER:**

I read the Encyclopedia of African American History. In case he had questions when he grew up. 

**KRYCEK:**

He was very conscientious. He was very good at all that daddy shit. He converted his old bedroom into a little boy's room. The pantheon of black heroes went up on the wall, joined by big letters and numbers. Teddy bears and stuffed toys cluttered every empty surface. Michael had a little computer with big letters on it, and a teeny tiny desk and chair. In the afternoons Skinner held him in his lap and read him stories, usually until they both fell asleep. I watched and learned. I'd like to think I'd have been that good with Mikhail, but the truth is, probably not. Skinner was--is--selfless in a way I'm not sure I can emulate. I watched him potty train Michael with total patience and dedication, and not just because poopy diapers are gross. Watching him made me realize just how little I'd had to give my wife and son. I loved Mikhail but I'd had no idea what it meant to be a father. I didn't understand the value in it. Watching Skinner with Michael, I began to learn. 

SKINNER: The Jerrys routinely took away all Michael's teething pain, which was good, but then I wondered if teething pain was some kind of milestone toddlers were supposed to overcome that makes them better adults. I wasn't sure if I'd helped him or hurt him. The Jerrys ignored my fretting and filled me in on Krycek's plans. They were going out to Washington State to build a holding cell for a supersoldier. Yes, they told me serenely, it was very dangerous. They expected that some of them might die. I wondered what would happen if Krycek died. I mean, really died. I didn't want to think about it. 

**KRYCEK:**

Something else I can't do. I have no idea who my mother is. Never wanted to find out. But Skinner... 

**SKINNER:**

I was so chagrined. Ma asked me for another picture and I didn't have one. I completely forgot about taking pictures. Those new digital cameras were nice though. 

**KRYCEK:**

That fucker went out and had his picture taken with Michael on his lap. He had on a suit and tie. Michael had on a new sailor suit. I didn't know how to say I wanted a picture too, so I said nothing. 

**SKINNER:**

Jesus Christ, he was moody. I knew he was worried about finding and dissecting the supersoldier, but why get pissy with me? 

KRYCEK: He spent the next week and a half glaring at me. Without speaking. It was fairly mild as far as sullen Skinner attitude went, but it pissed me off just the same. What the hell did he think I was going to do? 

Finally, when tensions were building up towards another bitchslapping contest, he knocked on the door of my den. He had Michael with him, but not for long. He crossed the room, put him in my arms, then stalked back to the door. He stood there for a moment staring at me with a look that threatened mayhem, then he left. 

Well. 

I stared down at Michael. He stared up at me. I don't think either of us knew what to do. 

I bounced him on my knee. "Your dad wants some time to himself, so I guess we're stuck with each other for the duration." 

He drooled on me and smiled. 

Holding him, I wanted Mikhail so badly that my body ached. I wouldn't have imagined it was possible to want someone so much. 

When I took him to go potty, one of the Jerrys was hovering, trying not to look like he was worried. 

"Domesticity sits well on you." 

I had nothing to say, so I didn't answer. Michael had his fist in my sweater and he was chewing on one of my old disks. I felt... I feel... very protective of him. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael started sleeping in his own room. I was very proud of him, but every morning he ran in and crawled up on the bed to see if we were still there. Sometimes he would crawl to Krycek's side. I tried not to feel jealous. I was afraid for him the first time it happened, but Krycek was decent about it. He turned on his left side, propped Michael against his stump and murmured to him until they both fell asleep again. When Krycek was half asleep he Russianized Michael's name, calling him Mikhail. He spoke to him in Spanish. To this day I don't know what the hell that was all about. 

KRYCEK: The Jerrys told me they needed a supersoldier to be a test subject for a virus they developed. To my knowledge there were dozens in the D.C., Maryland and Virginia area, which meant we had to go somewhere far away to find one. No way in hell was the toxin getting traced back to Point of Rocks, we were all in agreement there. They'd tried to find the base where they were being produced, but only managed to find a single scout in an airplane factory in Seattle. We would have to find a way to isolate him in order to test the vaccine. If it worked the way they expected it to, the metal in his body would disintegrate and he would be reduced to a pile of molten flesh and molecules of unidentifiable metal. If it didn't work, we'd have to stay away for a long time--long enough to throw him off our scent. 

Skinner was pretty reasonable about it when I explained it to him. Most of the Jerrys were staying behind, and of course the guards would continue their regular rotation, so he would be safe enough. He showed Michael the bags I was packing and explained sincerely if ineffectually that I was going away. I did my part, making a big production out of putting things in suitcases. Skinner took Michael to the door so he could wave bye-bye. 

**SKINNER:**

Ten minutes after he left he was back. 

"Come here," he ordered, and led the way to his den. My heart was pounding. I rarely go into his inner sanctum, but every time I do my life changes. It changed again. He gave me a set of car keys and a big wad of cash. He glared at me, but I couldn't reassure him. I just told him to leave before he missed his flight. I tested my bonds immediately, if rather tamely. I took the car to Georgetown, got out and walked around, hoping I'd run into someone I knew from my old life, and dreading the inevitable moment when I actually did. I walked for hours, through my old neighborhood, through Scully's, through Mulder's. I tried to gin up some emotion, some longing for old days and old times, but it was impossible. I think one of his guards followed me. I didn't see anyone, but that doesn't mean anything. Krycek hired the best. Driving back, I got angry with myself. So my jail cell had been widened. So what? 

**KRYCEK:**

It worked like a dream. The supersoldier melted and died. The Jerrys were champing at the bit to kill all the rest of them and I understood exactly how they felt. The two I had with me sent for more of the virus right away. They were proud. I was proud. It was a good moment. 

**SKINNER:**

They came back jubilant, but within days their triumph turned to ash. They had a foolproof formula but no delivery system, and they still didn't know where the supersoldiers were being manufactured.. The disappointment was palpable, and for days there was a kind of gloom over everything. I would have given them a pep-talk if I could have, but the Jerrys all huddled in their greenhouse or their dorm and refused to come out. 

**KRYCEK:**

The Jerrys wanted to go find all the supersoldiers and destroy them, but I said no. They are totally inept when it comes to taking care of themselves in a fight and I couldn't risk the security of my home. No fucking way. They didn't mutiny, but they did mope. They made piles and piles of the virus on the chance that I would say yes one day. I told them that when the dust settled I would hire an independent contractor to distribute it. They agreed to test it for long-term effects on humans. I promised to get them some Consortium members to use as human subjects. 

**SKINNER:**

The Jeremiah Smiths were restless. One day in Spring, I went outside to find them teaching Michael how to feel energy in the growing plants. He was pretty good at it. I decided that he needed to be socialized by real humans. I told Krycek I was going to put him in day school. Krycek gave me a look, but all he said was, "Make sure they have armed guards." 

**KRYCEK:**

It was time for Michael to go to school. We put on suits and ties and went to be interviewed. It was a formality. Skinner gave the school two hundred thousand dollars in exchange for the right to put our own security guard and nanny on the grounds for Michael's safety. They probably would have let us put an orangutan in the classroom for that much money, but we sat and sweated the interview. Literally, in my case. I'd never been interviewed like that and I had no idea what to expect. I relaxed a little when I noticed that all the 'janitors' and 'groundskeepers' had bulges under their jackets. I knew at once that we weren't the only family who insisted on extra protection. We were the only ones with a morph, though. One of the Jerrys, morphed into a grandmotherly female form, would be in Michael's classroom every day as a 'helper.' I was proud of that. 

I asked the principal if I could speak with the school's head of security. 

"Well, we don't really have one as such..." 

I gave her a look, and she stumbled and stammered for a bit then admitted that she was the one who took care of security needs. "For an additional fee we let some of the parents who feel it necessary provide their own security guards as long as they're unobtrusive." 

I was appalled. "You have an accident waiting to happen here. You need to coordinate your security forces or someone will get hurt. That would be very bad for everyone involved, especially when you consider the negative publicity, which I'm sure no one wants." 

She turned white under her make-up. I told her she needed a chief of security and I had someone who was perfect for the job. When I got home I called Lila. 

**SKINNER:**

Good thing the school principal insisted that both parents come for the interview. I sat there and did my Neanderthal impression: boy go. Play school. One step up from hooting and grunting I suppose, though that's debatable. She probably would have booted us out, in spite of the money, but Krycek did all the talking. He was good at it. Really good. I contemplated feeling resentful until we got home and he took his jacket off. I don't think I've ever seen sweat stains that big. 

**KRYCEK:**

For Michael's first day of school I gave Skinner the keys to a new Lincoln Navigator. I immediately regretted the gesture, especially when Skinner scowled at me, but it was too late take it back. 

I said, "Have a nice time at school, Michael." 

Michael said, "Bye, Alex!" 

**SKINNER:**

Every time Krycek made another gesture of trust it drove me into a paroxysm of self-doubt and anger. It was clear that he thought I'd been neutered, that I was no danger to him. He didn't even leer at me anymore, and for some reason that drove me into a rage. I seethed until Michael started to fret and whine (that kid's like an emotional weathervane). One night, in bed, I let my anger reign. 

"I have been raped before," Krycek said. The mockery was firmly back in place. 

"Then you know how I feel every day." My jaw was aching again. 

"You know," amusement threaded his voice, "I've seen your medicine cabinet. Two of them actually. The one here, and the one in Crystal City." 

I braced myself, but as usual he was brutal. "Paxil, prozac, darvon, pepcid, tums, mylanta, maalox," he recited. "How much of that stuff do you have in here?" He asked, gesturing towards my bathroom. 

"That's not the point. Awful or not, it was my life and you stole it. And you've spent every spare minute flaunting the fact that you've got freedom to move and I don't." 

For the first time since I'd known him he looked genuinely surprised. "You think I flaunt my freedom. You think that's what this is about? Self-absorbed asshole. Go to sleep." 

With that he turned over, leaving me fuming. 

The next day, when I got back from taking Michael to school, Krycek approached me, his expression stiff and angry. I tensed immediately, but all he did was order me to follow him. 

I have to admit, I was scared shitless. I don't like his den, and I was assuming the worst. All he did though, was hand me a sheaf of files and tell me to figure out from the surveillance photos where the safehouse was. It took three days, but I finally did it. 

I went back to him. "Follow the Moonies. They have a briefcase with a bunch of tracts in it? Look. It's evening in this picture. They've been out all day. The bag's not any lighter, any emptier." 

He gaped. 

"They don't have a safe-house. They carry everything on them." 

"It never occurred to me to check if they were real Moonies," he murmured. 

"Most of them probably are. In fact, I bet all of them are. If you were a member of a secret organization and you wanted to hide, where would you go?" 

"To another secret organization," he agreed. "They would have no idea they'd been infiltrated." 

**KRYCEK:**

Stupid of me to forget why he became an Assistant Director at such a young age. 

**SKINNER:**

I'm better at long-range planning. Krycek is good at operations, but I'm a wizard at strategy, always have been. I always thought he was up to no good in there, hiding in his little den, plotting mayhem, but it turns out he was steadily taking out all the Consortium members he could find. He was admirably ruthless, and without the FBI regulations or the constitution to worry about, so was I. He got me up to speed on what he'd been doing in the years since he'd died that first time. Now his physical isolation made sense, as did the presence of the Jerrys and his mysterious trips. I'd assumed he'd been out stealing and said as much. It turned out he didn't need to steal anymore. He has so much money it made my knees weak. Literally, I had to sit down when he told me how much he possessed. 

**KRYCEK:**

With Michael in school Skinner had no one to take care of anymore. He moped. He sulked. He pined. When he started long rambles through the woods again, I put my foot down. I gave him more tasks. After no time at all I began to wish I had a thousand of him. 

SKINNER: I hated it that I enjoyed working with Krycek. He's quiet and has a bizarre sense of humor, and he gave me a peaceful, orderly life for the first time in decades. Sheer stubbornness prevented me from being grateful to him. It wasn't as if we stopped circling around each other looking for weaknesses. We put the little war on the back burner while we fought a bigger war, but we still feinted and tested. 

"Tell me about your marriage," says Krycek the rat. Well, fuck him. I've had a pat answer prepared for years. 

"It was good, then it was not so good, then it was over." 

I think he was disappointed though he tried to hide it. I turned the battle back on my attacker. "How about you? You ever been married?" 

I meant it as mockery, so my jaw dropped when he turned pale and nodded. "I had a wife and a son, but they're dead now." 

I didn't know what to say, so I settled for the same lame answer people give me, "I'm sorry." 

"Don't be," he told me with a straight face. "They're better off." At my obvious skepticism, he elaborated. "The Consortium was going to use them like they did Scully and Mulder and the rest, run tests on them. They would have taken my wife's eggs, made little half-human babies with them, destroyed the defective ones. Mulder got Scully back because he was important to their plans at the time. I was never that important. I would have never seen her again." 

I didn't know what to say. Finally I asked him what happened. 

"Nothing. I told you, they're dead." 

"I meant, how did they die?" 

"I killed them," he answered. 

I knew he was telling the truth. He had this look on his face like... like... I don't know what he looked like. I realized in that moment that all I'd ever done with Krycek was fuck. I'd never gotten to learn him at all, and now my lack of foresight was kicking my ass. 

I just stood there staring like a moron, then I said something stupid. 

"When we were still happy with each other, I bought Sharon a fur coat. It cost almost fifteen thousand dollars. You could tell it was a good coat, too, just by looking. I used to take her out to dinner on the coldest nights of the year so she'd have to wear it. She looked so good in it. Heads would turn. People stared at that coat. They stared at her because she was so beautiful. It made me feel... like the pope or something, Muhammed Ali... take your pick. I had this beautiful woman. It was obvious that I could take good care of her..." 

I trailed off then, not sure what I was trying to say. Krycek wasn't looking at me anymore, so I took the hint and left. 

Afterwards I felt like a fucking idiot. Why did I tell him that? It's not my way to share happy memories, or any memories, especially not with Krycek. I think I was trying to counteract the story he'd just told me by replacing it with something better. I still wish I hadn't said anything. I should have just walked away. 

KRYCEK: He told me a story about a fur coat, but I didn't get it. Was he saying he could take care of his family and I couldn't take care of mine? That's the obvious answer, but the look on his face... If he felt bad because my family's dead then he totally missed the point. I saved them. I think I deserve to feel good about that. The other weird thing was that after that he started saying my name like it was a name rather than sounding like he was spitting something bad out of his mouth. Jackass. 

SKINNER: He knew a lot of the people who were used in Consortium experiments. Friends of his. People he grew up with. 

I knew he worked for some cold sons of bitches, but I'd always had the sense that when he was with me he was safe. I was wrong. He's never been safe. I don't know what bothered me more, the fact that he was a perfect jackal in a jackal's world, or the fact that I hadn't been able to do a thing for him, even when I thought I was helping him. 

Over the years I sold out so many different groups for so many different reasons that I'm not much different from him except I didn't kill people. Much. 

He killed his own family to save them. I would never have been able to do that, and I don't know if that's good or bad. 

So much left unsaid. 

Once, long, long time ago, we had a brief conversation. 

"You remember that Madonna video?" He asked me. "With the mermaid guys?" 

"Yeah." Damned straight I remembered it. 

"She was hot. Her dress was all wet." 

I nodded. 

"You remember that one part?" 

He didn't have to tell me which part he was referring to. We just looked at each other and grinned. Madonna Louise Ciccone rocking in the water when the waves hit her clit is a sight no man forgets. 

That one moment, we shared something normal. After he told me the story of his dead wife and kid I thought about that a lot. It's pathetic that I've had so little of normalcy, of simple pleasure. Just two guys leering over a pretty woman. Same for him though, so at least in that we're even. 

**KRYCEK:**

Michael loved school. He gave me pictures that he drew. I still have them. 

**SKINNER:**

Krycek took to following me around. Ironically, after resenting the fuck out of him for starting to trust me, I seethed at this new behavior. It took months before I realized that he wasn't watching me as much as he was watching me with Michael. Buying new shoes, there was Krycek, lurking around the corner in the mall. Taking him to church, there was Krycek headed out to the parking lot five minutes before services let out, as inconspicuous as a yarmulke on Easter Sunday. I let him look all he wanted. This was not a kinder, gentler Krycek. This was underhanded, sneaky, possessive, Krycek. He just wanted to make sure that whenever it was his turn to care for Michael he didn't fuck up. I could appreciate that. 

**KRYCEK:**

Mikhail's father didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. Michael's fathers would be different. I paid careful attention. After a while Skinner and the clones didn't look so skittish when I did things for Michael. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael had another birthday. There was something wrong with my eyes the whole time. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner showed up at my door to tersely inform me that they were singing happy birthday to Michael in the kitchen. 

I pretended to be surprised at the date. I went in and sang to him so he wouldn't think I'd forgotten, but I threw away the present I'd bought. I just couldn't bring myself to give it to him in front of a room full of people, even if they were only clones. 

**SKINNER:**

Amazing how much free time I had after Michael started school. For the first time since I'd moved in I looked around Krycek's house. Even now, I'm still stunned at the sheer size. He'd installed a weight room, a shooting range, a dojo, a sauna and a steam room. It was good to be able to work out regularly again. 

**KRYCEK:**

The remaining Consortium groups didn't have a chance against us. We found a way to get the virus onto all the secret military installations we knew about. We had to contract out all the work, but I monitored the message traffic to see how much of a stir it caused. As I expected, nobody said much of anything after that first panicked burst of communication, but I got pictures back of bloody, disintegrating piles of flesh and metal. Skinner and I high-fived. 

SKINNER: I figured out why he had to bribe me to stay with him. In an odd way, I don't think it was personal. I think it was what he knew how to do. He knew I'd be shocked and angry, but he did it anyway. For a long time I wondered if he thought I was so toothless that he could disregard my anger. I took defiant pleasure in my ongoing if sporadic communications with Lois Runtz. Over time she found details of Krycek's experiences in the Consortium. Now she hates them as much as I do. She found all Krycek's eight brothers and sisters. She bluntly demanded that I not stand on my sexist notions of chivalry if I ever needed rescuing, reminding me that I now had a child's wellbeing to consider as well as my own. From the hints she dropped I knew she was willing and able to eliminate Krycek for me if need be. I thanked her, but I kept my peace: I knew Krycek wasn't really a threat to me anymore. He was cruel and utterly indifferent to my wants, but once he believed he had me under control he'd loosened the reins considerably. As I tried to explain to her, it wasn't that I liked Krycek, it was that there was too much at stake for me to easily walk away. I promised to explain it to her more clearly as soon as I could. 

**KRYCEK:**

Michael played with my prosthesis. Sometimes in the mornings he tried to help me put it on. One day he brought home a picture of him, me and Skinner. In it, my arm was lying off to the side. A gun lay next to it. Skinner handed it to me with a stiff expression on his face and I knew he was scared of what I'd say, but Michael was grinning, proud of what he'd drawn. I couldn't help but grin back. It meant he saw me. He knew me. Arm, gun, and all. 

**SKINNER:**

I finally decided it was time to be a man about things. I was holding on to my resentment and it was stupid. I probably should have just said, 'truce, Krycek,' but I couldn't bring myself to actually speak the words out loud. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner could always fuck, but a few months after Michael started school he got very inventive. He started doing different things, taking his time, drawing it out. I felt torn to pieces. He found the perfect angle with which to drive me insane, and he'd ride me like a bucking bronco. He was relentless. He made me scream for him. Sometimes my eyes rolled back in my head. Sometimes, afterwards, all I could do was lie there, holding on to him until I came back down out of orbit. 

I didn't know what to do about it. 

I asked him if he would go if I let him. 

He glared at me. "Are you cutting us loose, Krycek?" 

"No." 

"Then shut the fuck up." 

"Okay." 

**SKINNER:**

He called me a pervert, but his legs were wrapped around my head at the time, so I ignored him. 

**KRYCEK:**

For a while I was embarrassed for the clones and bodyguards to see me walking funny, but then I figured, fuck it. It's my house. My house. I'll do what I like. 

**SKINNER:**

He bought Michael a little tiny gun. I totally approved. 

**KRYCEK:**

It took every ounce of strength I had not to brag that I was the one who thought to buy Michael his first gun. I also started giving him lessons in quick and dirty martial arts techniques. At last I had something that only I did for him. I felt an odd, nagging shame that persisted for weeks, but I finally figured out what it was. Eventually, feeling like a complete fool for doing so, I apologized to Mikhail. I told him that I was sorry I hadn't taken better care of him, but I would take good care of his brother. I told Jarokal I was sorry I'd killed our son. They probably didn't hear me, but on the off chance that they did... well, at least they know. 

**SKINNER:**

I felt like I shouldn't be enjoying my life so much. I told myself to shut the fuck up. 

**KRYCEK:**

I stopped shaking as much. Then I got scared because I wasn't shaking anymore. I didn't know what it meant. Time was passing. Michael was growing. Skinner and I were fucking. I wished every day that I'd been smart enough to leave him to his boring job and sucking life, because this other shit was hard. I had no idea what was going on with us. I had no idea what anything meant. If Skinner knew, he wasn't saying. 

**SKINNER:**

Something had been bothering me. I went down to see the river again. "This thing I do. Will my son also do it? I mean, is that why I brought him home to live with us?" 

"You're asking me why you love Michael." 

"I guess. I want to know if he'll have any... strange abilities." 

"Will you love him less if he does?" 

I was offended. "Of course not!" 

"Then why the concern?" 

"I need to know how best to help him if he needs it." 

The river laughed. "Even if I had all the answers, I wouldn't give them to you." 

I was getting seriously pissed. "Can you tell me why this happened to me? I mean, why do I do this? Why me?" 

The river laughed again and I realized that I was whining. 

I tried to save face. "You're really Gibson Praise, aren't you?" 

"I'm a river," said the river. 

**KRYCEK:**

Skinner should have been watching him better. There was so much blood. We rushed him out to the Jerrys who casually healed his cut lip and handed him back to us. Michael stopped crying, but I was angry. I took Skinner's keys away and told him he could have them back when he could demonstrate responsibility. He just stood with his hip cocked like he does and pointed out that this was the third time Michael had cut himself and where had I been the other two times and what was I going to do when he hurt himself when none of the Jerrys were around? And while we were on the subject, what was I going to do when Michael got old enough to realize that not everyone had Jerrys to heal them? I was going to have to let him get better the old-fashioned way. Had I thought about that? 

Shit. It had never occurred to me. We'd have to tell him not to talk about the Jerrys or people would begin to ask questions. I didn't appreciate Skinner changing the subject on me and told him so. 

"Shoot me," he suggested, and turned his back on me. 

Shithead. 

**SKINNER:**

Michael found himself a little buddy named Leland Kleinman. They were always together. Leland had skin the color of milk, and bright red hair. I called the pair of them Lights On and Lights Off, and I vetted Leland's parents just to be safe. They were fine. I was very proud of how well Michael played with others. 

**KRYCEK:**

I got word that someone was trying to track Skinner down. I went into extreme paranoid mode, ready to call out all the forces at my command, but it turned out it was only Scully and Mulder. Scully had a message for him, crying, and begging him to help her find her son and make sure he was alright. Well, tough shit. Jerry was still out on the prairies, protecting him, but I didn't tell her that. Let her sweat it out. I have no patience for women who give their children away. I never told Skinner she was looking for him. 

**SKINNER:**

I played a game with Michael. I told him I was thinking of a number between one and ten and he had to guess what it was. He guessed wrong ten times out of ten times. Thank God. I took him to see my mother at Easter again, and he met his cousins. He ate a lot of candy, got sick and cranky, cried, then fell asleep. Perfectly normal. 

Petey told me I looked great. 

**KRYCEK:**

I can't believe what a pussy I am. I had some pictures of William taken at very close range and sent them on a convoluted journey to Scully's inbox. No wonder I feel unappreciated. Anyone would. 

**SKINNER:**

Lois dropped some weird hints that I might be wondering how old friends are doing. She was circumspect when I asked her, but I'm pretty sure she was talking about Mulder and Scully. I asked her straight out if there was a problem but she wouldn't say. I'm just as happy not knowing. I mean, how the fuck many times do I have to go rescue them? Enough, already. After a while she stopped hinting. 

KRYCEK: He celebrated his third birthday at school. I didn't want to come, but Skinner lost his temper when I tried to decline so I put on another suit and showed up. Everyone stared at me. Skinner said they stared because they'd never seen me before, and because of the gay angle, and the interracial angle, and the who's-the-richest? angle. I didn't know what to make of it. Skinner said next time maybe don't scowl so much and don't buy him so many expensive toys. 

SKINNER: Leland's parents decided to play can-you-top-this? for Leland's birthday. We all got invited to a big ski resort to celebrate. Michael was very excited. It was all he talked about for weeks. There was no way we could say no. I was terrified. It was entirely too dangerous. I didn't want to do it. Neither did Krycek. We were basket cases. We sent two guards up to case the place. We checked out Leland's family more carefully--vapid dot.com millionaires who were no threat. We arranged to have the guards stay there inconspicuously, and we got one of the Jeremiahs to disguise himself and go up a day early so he'd be there when we arrived. It didn't matter. We were still basket cases. 

**KRYCEK:**

Because of Michael we had gay family vacation. It was difficult for Skinner. We fit so many alternative lifestyles, it was a shame none of them overlapped. Gay, interracial adopters, ex-Consortium spy assassin, fifth column military intelligence officer, former FBI. We were too paranoid. If it had been left up to me, Michael would have never left the house. I was teaching him to shoot, but even with me standing behind him holding his arm steady he missed more than he hit. I was teaching him self-defense, but he still mostly thought we were rolling around on the floor, playing. He was making progress and I was proud of him, but he was in no way ready to defend himself against an attacker. The Skinner/Krycek family outing was going to be a security nightmare. 

We were so worried that it never occurred to us that he might actually have a good time. Michael insisted on going off by himself to play with Leland at the Jeepers franchise because he was a big boy now. 

I got Jeremiah to follow him, but I myself remained behind in the hotel room. I sat on the bed with my gun in my hand, waiting, and wondering what to do. 

"Put that damned thing away." Walter ordered. "He'll be fine. You've got to let him have a normal life." 

All I could do was look at him. I really wanted to kill somebody. He stared back at me, and suddenly his expression changed. There was a time when I would have killed for a look like that, especially from Skinner. At the time all I could do was hang on to my gun and try to keep myself from tearing down the stairs to kill whoever might be planning to hurt my son. Because someone was, and I knew it. They were down there right now, willing him harm and I wasn't there to stop them. 

"I have to go." 

"You can't. He needs to know we trust him to take care of himself." 

"I don't trust him. I don't trust anybody." 

I heard Skinner sigh. If anything, his expression grew even more sympathetic. He approached me a bit warily, reached for the gun and took it from my hands. 

"Here." He handed me my laptop. "Hack into the hotel security system and find out how many cameras they have in the romper room." 

They had four. It had taken me almost an hour and Michael still had not come back. I very carefully did not throw the laptop across the room. I turned to see what Skinner was doing. He appeared to be napping, but when I looked carefully I noticed his fixed stare. He was simply waiting for it to be time to go get Michael. 

"I'm going down," I announced. 

"I'm coming with you." He was off the bed in a heartbeat, plunging out the door. 

We forced ourselves to keep a sedate pace, and thank God we did. We would have looked like fools if we'd rushed in with guns drawn. Michael was having a great time. 

I stole a glance at Skinner. Was he going to admit how frightened he'd been? Nope? Well, I certainly wasn't going to say anything. None of the other parents would meet our eyes. We can both look very mean when we want to. 

**SKINNER:**

He was as worried as I was, trying not to show it. I suggested he hack into the resort's security, and that kept him busy for almost a full hour. I went to use the toilet and when I came back he was sitting with a gun in his hand again. 

Finally we went downstairs to see how Michael was getting on. 

He was fine. He didn't even notice we were there. I took Krycek by the arm and led him back upstairs. He glared daggers at me. 

"If someone hurts him..." He couldn't finish his thought. I watched his face cloud over. "It doesn't bother you at all, does it? To feel so helpless." 

I refused to let him pick a fight with me this time. Instead I pulled him to his feet and pulled him close. 

He tried to resist, but I wasn't having it. "I want you to let me in, Alex." 

I hoped the use of his name would soften him, but it didn't, not that time. He kept pulling away. I kept refusing to let him. "I know what you want. If you want this to work. If you really want this to work, you have to let me in like you let him in. If we're going to be a family we have to work at it." 

"Fuck you," he offered. "I think it's time to take away some privileges. From now on..." 

I put my hand over his mouth. "You've tried that already and it didn't work. I'm already under your skin. I know you need me. I know you need him. You can't protect yourself from your feelings, Alex." I pulled him closer. My voice was shaking, but I pretended it wasn't. "You're brave enough to take down a global conspiracy singlehanded. Are you brave enough to love us openly? To let us love you back?" 

"Fuck you," he said again, but he leaned his head against my shoulder and let me hold him there for a long, long time. 

The End. 

* * *

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to Bette St. Cloud 


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